The Winter Peacock
by Lousylark
Summary: Adrien wants to take Marinette to Winter Formal. Gabriel, as always, has other plans.
1. Chapter 1

_(Yo. Just so you know, I upload to my tumblr (same username) first, so if you want faster updates, check there. Alright, without further ado, here's The Winter Peacock.)_

* * *

1.

Something is different about Marinette.

He can't quite put his finger on it, but he's been staring at her for at least thirty seconds straight now, trying to figure out what it is. It isn't her makeup and it isn't her hair — he's well-versed enough as a model to be able to notice that sort of thing. But there is something glaringly different, and it bothers him that he can't figure it out: like he's finished a puzzle except for one missing piece.

"Adrien?"

The picture is there and he shouldn't be disappointed, but the fact that he can't find the piece is —

"Yo, earth to Adrien?"

Adrien starts. Nino and Alya are both staring at him with wide eyes. They're standing in the school foyer, waiting for lunch break to end. He's been watching Marinette across the street as she walks down the sidewalk; she must've gone home for lunch.

"Sorry," he says, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "I zoned out. What were you saying?"

"Just talking about the winter formal on Friday," Nino says. He tries to follow Adrien's gaze. "What are you staring at?"

"Oh, uh," he stumbles, glancing quickly away from Marinette. "Just my father's new advertisement by the bakery. You know, model things."

Nino scoffs. "Classic Adrien."

Alya nudges him in the ribs with her elbow. "Please, you'd stare at posters of yourself on the street, too — if you had any." Before Nino can retort, Alya notices her friend approaching the school. "Marinette!" she calls, waving.

Marinette looks at them and her expression brightens. Again, Adrien feels the itching sensation in the back of his mind that something is off. He tries to scrutinize her again without being too obvious: her clothes don't look unusual, her eyes aren't a different color. Why does she look different?

She catches his gaze, and her bright smile diminishes into something softer, as is the norm. This is his second year at Françoise Dupont, and she still treats him differently than all the other students. He wish he knew why. He used to think she was still holding a grudge against him after the gum incident on the first day, but after knowing her for a year and a half or so, he had come to the conclusion that Marinette isn't the type of girl to hold grudges.

She meets them at the top of the stairs. "Hi guys!" she greets, looking at Nino and Alya. Then she looks at him. "H-Hi, Adrien."

Alya asks Marinette something about the homework due for their next class, which leaves Adrien another moment to look at her. She's wearing a scarf today, even though it isn't terribly cold. Christmas is only two weeks away and Paris hasn't seen any snow yet, but throughout the past few days there had been excited murmuring around school that they'd see some this upcoming Friday night.

"So anyway," Nino says, picking up at the end of Alya and Marinette's conversation. He looks back and forth from Marinette to Adrien. "Alya and I wanted to hit up the movies today after school. That new Sandy Claws film is out, you know, the one based on the akuma attack last year? You guys wanna tag along?"

Marinette opens her mouth to respond —

— but instead of words, she only manages a giant sneeze.

"A _choo_!"

And that's when it hits him: Marinette is sick. It isn't her makeup or her hair or her outfit that's different. It's the redness around her nose, the paleness of her cheeks — her whole demeanor screams sickness.

Something inside of him softens. He hates seeing his friends sick.

"Bless you," he says, putting a hand on Marinette's shoulder. She looks up at him with wide eyes, and he offers her a gentle smile.

"Girl, are you okay?" Alya asks, putting a hand against Marinette's forehead.

But Marinette waves her hands in front of her face defensively. "It's just a head cold. Nothing to worry about."

Adrien doubts that's the truth, but he decides not to argue. He simply squeezes her shoulder before letting his hand fall back to his side.

"So the movies?" Nino prompts.

Marinette deflates like a balloon. "I wish I could, but I've got to babysit Manon tonight."

Alya raises an eyebrow. "Madame Chamack is okay with you babysitting Manon even though you're not feeling well?"

Marinette shakes her head. "Really, it's nothing. I drank some orange juice this morning and everything. I'm feeling much — _achoo!"_

Her whole body collapses in on itself like a folding chair as she sneezes again. Adrien feels another rush of pity, and tries to steady her by putting his hand on her back, right between her shoulders.

Marinette sniffles. "Really. I'm okay." Her voice sounds like someone put a clothespin over her nose.

"I don't think so," Alya counters. "Listen, why don't you let me take over your babysitting shift tonight? We can go see the movie later this week when we're all free."

Marinette shakes her head. "I promised Manon I'd watch _The Grinch_ with her tonight." Her nose crinkles, and she inhales sharply. It looks like she's about to sneeze again, but then she releases the breath with a giant sigh. Looking at Alya, she concedes, "Well, I guess I wouldn't mind if we tag-teamed."

"Hey, I wouldn't mind watching _The Grinch!"_ Nino says. "What if we all come and help you babysit?"

"All of you?" Marinette asks, looking at each of them. Her gaze lingers on Adrien, and he can't help but notice the wariness in her tone.

"I don't have any plans tonight, so I'm down," he says. Then, seeing the way her eyes widen, he adds, "If that's okay with you, Marinette."

She smiles slightly, and some of the color returns to her cheeks. "Y-Yeah, that sounds like fun! Thanks, you guys. Manon will love all the company, too. I think she gets tired of playing with just me."

Nino swings an arm around Adrien's shoulders. "No worries! We're great with kids."

Marinette looks at him and opens her mouth to speak, but is interrupted by another sneeze. This time it's loud enough that several other kids in the foyer look their way.

Alya grins. "Come on, girl. Let's find you a big stack of tissues before class starts."

Marinette nods feebly, and allows her friend to guide her toward the girls' bathrooms across the courtyard. Adrien watches them go.

"Poor Marinette," Nino muses, echoing his own thoughts.

He nods in agreement. "It must be tough to get sick this close to Christmas." He pauses, turning back to look outside to the bakery. "I wonder if there's something we can do for her."

A pause, and then Nino says unexpectedly, "Well, dude, you could ask her to the Winter Formal this Friday."

Adrien looks at his friend with one eyebrow raised. "I don't see how that would make her feel better."

"U-uh, well," Nino stammers, "you know, Alya says she doesn't have a date yet. And I guess she's working really hard to organize everything since she's the class rep. We were just thinking that, of all people, she should have someone to go with, you know?"

Adrien tilts his head to one side. "Is she not going with Alya?"

"Dude, Alya's going with me."

"With you? Why can't you all just go together?"

"Because it's Winter Formal!" Nino says, like it's obvious.

"Nino, I've never _been_ to a Winter Formal, let alone any school dance," Adrien reminds him. There wasn't a dance last year due to lack of school funds. This year, Mayor Bourgeois made a generous donation to make the dance possible — likely at the request, or command, of his daughter.

Realization dawns on Nino's face like a Christmas tree lighting up. "Dude, right. Well, for Winter Formal, you usually go with, uh, you know…" he scuffs one shoe against the ground. "…a date. You know, which is why I'm going with Alya." He looks up at Adrien again, his voice urgent. "But, uh, ya know, it doesn't have to be! Like if you asked Marinette, you guys could just go as friends. But everyone's paired off already, and I guess Marinette's been so busy she didn't ask anyone to be her date. You know?"

Adrien sighs. "Well, I'd love to ask Marinette, but I can't even go to Winter Formal. I've got an important photo shoot this Friday night."

Nino growls. "Dude, you're kidding. Why does your dad always schedule photo shoots on the important days?"

Adrien shrugs. "Don't ask me."

He sighs, looking back toward Marinette and Alya. Nino is right: out of everyone in their grade, Marinette _should_ have someone to go to Winter Formal with. He would love to take her, if he could. The alternative was Chloe, and, while they were friends, he wasn't too keen on spending an entire night being the sole object of her attention.

As if reading his thoughts, Nino commented, "You know, I'm surprised Chloe hasn't demanded that you take her yet."

Adrien ignores the gentle rib at his childhood friend, instead rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "Well, actually, now that you mention it, I think she's brought it up a few times, and I just didn't really connect the dots. I didn't get that it was supposed to be a date thing, and it's not like I can go anyway."

Nino stares at him, and then says point-blank: "Dude, you're so oblivious sometimes." Before Adrien can retort, he goes on, "Have you at least asked your dad about rescheduling the photo shoot? It'd be really chill if you could come."

Adrien sighs. "No, I haven't asked, but you know how that usually goes."

Nino scoffs. "That I do."

He drops the topic. Nino doesn't like talking about the time he was akumatized, though he hadn't been the first of their friends and he almost certainly wouldn't be the last.

The school bell rings. As the students start gathering their bags and finding friends, Adrien looks at Nino.

"I'll talk to my dad, but I can't promise anything," he says. "Cool?"

Nino fist bumps him. "Cool. Let's go catch up with Marinette and Alya. Alya's kinda scary when her friends get sick. They might need help carrying all those tissues."


	2. Chapter 2

Marinette is miserable.

She's a firm believer in the idea that a person is only as sick as they believe themselves to be, and she believes that she is _ill._

Alya puts a cold wash cloth against her head. She's been taking care of Marinette since school got out two hours ago.

"Are you sure it's a good idea for you to watch Manon tonight?" she asks, obvious disapproval in her tone.

"Totally," Marinette says, squishing the cloth against her forehead to revel in its coolness. She lets out a blissful sigh. "See? I already feel better. And I can take more tylenol in an hour. I'll be fine." She sits up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed but keeping the cloth pressed against her face. "Besides, Adrien is coming! To my house!"

But even as she says it, her face falls. Normally, the prospect of Adrien coming over to hang out would be earth-shatteringly _wonderful,_ but her sickness is putting a cloud over the sun and making her mostly indifferent to the idea — a true miracle, Tikki would say. For once, she finally has her priorities in order.

"Speaking of which," she says, looking around her room. She looks at Alya with her best puppy eyes. "Will you help me take down these posters before he comes over?"

Alya grins. "Nah, you should leave 'em up. Middle school boys are really into stalker girlfriends."

Marinette pouts. "Harsh."

But Alya stands and starts helping her take down the various posters nonetheless, even rubbing some of the tack off the wall where it sticks.

As Marinette places one of her favorite shots of Adrien in a black sweatshirt in a pile on her desk, she muses, "You know, maybe I won't put them back up after this. It is a _little_ creepy. Or I'll just put up one or two instead of…" she trails off, quickly counting the posters, "…twenty-five."

Alya whirls on her. "Okay, you're way sicker than you're letting on if you're really talking about taking down your Adrien collection. I think we should call Mrs. Chamack and —"

Before she can continue, there's a knock at the bakery door downstairs, shortly followed by Manon's distinct voice crying for Marinette.

Marinette smiles. "Come on, Alya. Can't keep Manon waiting."

* * *

Adrien loves the Dupain-Cheng residence. The smells, the colors, the warmth — all of it combined makes him feel calm. He can't help but envy Marinette for her being able to come home to this every day after school.

"Thank you for having me, Mrs. Dupain-Cheng," he says, taking off his shoes and leaving them by the welcome mat.

"Of course, Adrien!" she says, smiling. "We're always happy to have Marinette's friends over, and it's so nice of you all to help her babysit."

Mr. Dupain-Cheng swings enters the foyer from the bakery door, holding a plate of fresh chocolate chip cookies. "To tell the truth, Adrien, our girl's a bit sicker than she's letting on. You look after her, alright?" He hands him the plate of cookies. "And take this up with you. Manon loves 'em."

Adrien nods. "Will do, Mr. Dupain-Cheng."

He smiles. "Just call me Tom, Adrien. We're not big on formalities around here."

"And call me Sabine," his wife adds.

Adrien smiles. "Will do, Mr. Tom and Miss Sabine."

Tom laughs heartily. "We'll get there. Alright, head on up. They're all in Marinette's room. Sabine and I will be down here if you kids need anything."

"Thanks!" he says, and just before he puts his foot on the first step, he gestures with the plate of cookies and tries for a pun: "That's really _sweet_ of you."

Tom and Sabine both look at him strangely for a moment, and then they dissolve into a fit of laughter.

Adrien can barely contain his smile as he treks up the stairs. Just before he opens the hatch to Marinette's room, he hears Tom say from the foyer, "He's a good kid. Funny, too."

His heart blooms like a flower as he raps once on the little trap door.

Barely a second passes by before the door swings open to reveal Alya's face.

"Shh." She holds up one finger to her lips. "Marinette's asleep."

She moves aside so Adrien can climb up into the bedroom.

"That didn't take long," he says, careful to keep his voice down.

Alya shook her head. "Right. One minute we're telling Manon about the winter formal on Friday, and then she's snoring mid-sentence."

He looks over to Marinette's bed. Sure enough, she's fast asleep: she's sitting upright but her head is propped up on a cat-shaped pillow, and her chest rises to a slow, steady rhythm.

"We're playing the quiet game," Alya says, taking the plate of cookies from him.

"I'm winning!" Manon pipes up from the other side of the room.

Alya winks at her. "Not anymore."

Manon clamps her mouth shut, and motions with her hand like she's zipping her lips and eating the key. Adrien smiles.

"Nino and I are gonna go make some popcorn, and then we're gonna start the movie," Alya says. She looks over at Manon. "You wanna come help us? We can take a break from the quiet game if we're in the kitchen."

Manon grins. "Yes. But I want a cookie!"

She bounds over to Alya, who lowers the plate so Manon can reach. "Just one for now. You can have more when the movie starts."

"Not unless I eat 'em all first," Nino jokes, moving from his spot on Marinette's desktop chair to join them.

Manon makes a face at him, and Alya shakes with quiet laughter.

"We'll go get the popcorn and some drinks," she whispers to Adrien. "Can you look after Marinette? She should stay asleep, but, you know, just in case she wakes up."

He nods. "Leave it to me."

Without another word — not even from Manon, which is impressive — they're climbing down the stairs. Their tiptoeing is strangely reminiscent of a movement from _The Nutcracker_ ballet. He smiles at the thought.

After quietly closing the hatch behind them, he straightens back up and looks around Marinette's room. He hasn't been here for some time — not since he and Marinette competed together in the Paris video game tournament — but it doesn't look much different.

If anything, it's even more colorful than the last time he saw it. His gaze sweeps over all the knick-knacks and designs that she's made — he lingers on the album cover she designed for Jagged Stone, which sits on a little shelf of honor next to her computer. But there are lots of other impressive things to look at, too. Some of them he recognizes, like the banner from Alix and Kim's race almost a year ago, and others he doesn't, like a little handmade Chat Noir plush on her nightstand. He smirks — he hadn't realized Marinette was one of his closet fans.

Then, he notices a sketchbook next to her sewing machine. The book sits on top of a bolt of shimmering blue fabric.

His curiosity gets the better of him, and he tiptoes over to the book. He's surprised to find the pages covered in dress designs — _beautiful_ dress designs, at that. Each one is a little different from the others, and then —

— and then he turns the page to find a final, fully fleshed-out color pencil rendering of a dress. It's midnight blue and beautiful. It takes his breath away.

That's when it hits him: this must be her dress for the Winter Formal. He smiles, feeling a strange warmth rise to his cheeks. Of course Marinette Dupain-Cheng would design her own dress for a school dance. How very like her, and how very… _amazing_.

"Adrien?"

He jumps.

Marinette blinks sleepily at him. He doesn't know quite what to say.

After a slightly awkward silence, she asks, "Am I dreaming?"

He can't help but smile at that. "No, you just fell asleep."

Her eyes widen to the size of teacup saucers. She tries to jump out of bed, but the minute her feet touch the floor, she wavers. He reaches out a hand to steady her as she rubs her head.

"Where's Manon?" she asks, and he feels so _sad_ when he hears the groggy sickness in her voice.

"She's with Alya and Nino downstairs," he says quickly so as not to worry her. "Don't worry, I don't think you were asleep for very long. They're making popcorn. They wanted me to stay up here in case you woke up."

"Oh."

He realizes that his hand is still on the small of her back. He slowly takes it away so she doesn't fall.

She looks up at him with wide, glossy eyes. "I'm not dreaming?"

He chuckles. "No, Marinette. At least, I don't think so, because then I'd have to be dreaming too."

"You are a dream," she muses, and he wonders if maybe he should get her parents. "I mean, I think you're a — no, that's not right. Now I wish this were a dream." She smacks a hand against her forehead and groans. "I think I should sit down."

"Great idea," he says, smiling at her obvious lack of lucidity, and holds her hand until she sits back down on the bed.

She reaches for the tissue box on her nightstand, and Adrien can't help but cave in to his curiosity. "Marinette?"

"Mhmm?"

He looks at the sketchbook near her sewing machine. "Did you design this?"

"The dress?" She blows her nose, then says, "Yeah. It didn't turn out the way I wanted to, though."

He looks at her disbelievingly. "You're kidding, right? It's beautiful." Running a finger along the edge of the page, he continues, "This belongs in one of my father's magazines."

She blinks at him. Her cheeks flush pink — probably because of the sickness. "That's…thank you, Adrien."

She gets up from the bed, wobbling less than the first time and bringing a blanket with her, wrapping it around her shoulders like a cape. Adrien watches her carefully. This is the first time in a while that they've talked without her stumbling over her words, and he can't help but wish it were always like this. He wishes she didn't treat him differently — but even more than that, he wishes he knew why she did _._

"I couldn't decide whether I wanted the dress in midnight blue or lilac," she explains, flipping back a page and pointing at some of her original sketches for reference.

"I like the midnight blue," he says. "It goes better with your eyes and your skin tone."

She nods. "That's what I decided, too. But the final draft still feels like it's missing something. Like, a theme, or a purpose."

Adrien shakes his head. "I think it's perfect. You're gonna wear it to the Winter Formal, right?"

"That _was_ the plan." She sighs, pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders. "But to be honest, I don't even know if I'm _going_ to the Winter Formal anymore."

"Not going?" he asks. "Why wouldn't you?"

She sits on the edge of her bed. "I don't know. I mean, I don't feel well enough to sew, so I won't be able to finish the dress in time. And I don't even like the dress I designed, and I don't have a date, and I have lots of homework I could catch up on this weekend —"

"Hold on, Marinette," he interjects. He sits next to her on the bed, but she swiftly avoids eye contact. "The dress you designed is amazing. And I'll bet that if you took a sick day tomorrow you could stay home and finish it."

She smiles sadly, and says almost to herself, "I don't get the luxury of sick days."

He isn't entirely sure what she means by that, but the statement resonates with him like a gong ringing inside his ribcage. He shakes his head, ridding his mind of the ironies that try to bubble up in his subconscious.

"Regardless, you shouldn't not go to Winter Formal just because you don't have a date," he adds.

Her expression turns suddenly dour. She folds her arms over her chest, and the blanket falls from her shoulders into a heap at the base of her back. "W-Well, that's easy for you to say." Her voice softens. "After all, you can have your pick of any of the girls at school to take on Friday night, Mr. Model Agreste."

He picks the blanket up and replaces it on her shoulders, looking at her with what he hopes is sincerity. "I can't even go on Friday. I have a photo shoot." He doesn't know why he feels like there are six billion butterflies flapping around in his stomach. Probably because he's hungry. "And even if I could go, even if I had my pick of anyone in the school to go with — which I don't," he says, tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear, "there's only one girl I'd ask."

She finally makes eye contact with him. Her eyes are wide with some feeling he doesn't recognize, and —

— and he's never noticed before, but those sky-blue irises are uncannily familiar.

At that moment, the door to Marinette's room opens. Both of them jump; Marinette levitates so far off the bed that the blanket falls from her shoulders again.

Sabine pops her head up into the room.

"Oh good, you're awake," she says, looking toward her daughter. "Adrien, could you give us a second? I need to take Marinette's temperature."

"Mom, I told you I don't have a fever," Marinette says, and the hint of a whine in her voice makes Adrien chuckle.

Sabine narrows her eyes. "Yes, and Manon doesn't love chocolate chip cookies. Come on sweetheart, let me be a mother."

Marinette sighs, but wordlessly stands up and starts trudging toward the stairs nonetheless. Sabine guides her through the trap door with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Watching them go, Adrien feels just a hint of sadness pull at his heart strings. Sabine reminds him of —

"What was _that?"_

Adrien sighs. Plagg whizzes out of his inside jacket pocket, smirking suggestively.

"What was what?"

" _Please_ ," he says, crossing his little arms over his chest. "That whole mush fest with Marinette!"

Adrien's cheeks feel warm all of a sudden. "That was nothing. I mean, she's sick, and I'm just trying to be a good friend."

"Always the 'good friend' stuff with her," Plagg says, whizzing over toward her sewing machine. "Ooh, that _is_ pretty, and I don't even _like_ foofty stuff like that." He whizzes back over to Adrien. "So what about 'there's only one girl I'd ask?' 'Cause you were definitely talking about her, right? What happened to your massive crush on Ladybug?"

Adrien looks at the floor. "C'mon, Plagg, it's not like I can ask Ladybug to a school dance."

Plagg flies right up to his face. "Hmm. Something tells me you'd rather ask pig-tail girl, anyway!"

He smirks. "Well, after all, it'd be hard to find a boutonniere that matches Ladybug's costume."

"So you _were_ gonna ask her!"

"No. Yes? Maybe," he sighs, flopping onto Marinette's bed. "Drop it, Plagg. It's not like I can go to the dance, anyway."

Plagg bounces on the bed next to Adrien. "I don't know, kid. I think if you showed your dad that design of Marinette's, even _he_ would have a hard time saying no to you taking her."

Adrien blinks.

He sits up straight on the bed, then snaps his gaze over to Marinette's sketchbook.

"You know, Plagg," he muses, taking out his phone and opening the camera app. "That might not be such a bad idea."

* * *

 _(A/N: I meant to upload this forever ago, and then school happened. oops.)_


	3. Chapter 3

Later that night, Adrien stands poised outside his father's office, phone in hand and argument-ready.

The remainder of the movie night went smoothly, and without any other moments of questionable nature with Marinette. Well, maybe that wasn't completely true — she fell asleep again, this time with her head lolling over to rest on his shoulder, but Plagg hadn't given him any grief for it on the walk home.

And now he stands before his father's door. It's getting late and he knows this is hopeless —

— but he has to _try._

His father's voice suddenly carries through the office door. _"Excuse me?"_

A pause. He must be on the phone. Adrien puts his ear against the door to listen.

"No, absolutely not." He sounds _angry._ "Tell Angélique that my offer is non-negotiable: the photo-shoot must be this Friday at seven."

His father doesn't say anything for a while, and Adrien wonders if he's hung up the phone. But then, he hears a deep, throaty growl.

"My son's worth is inestimable, and if Angélique has any qualms with that, she can speak to me directly. _Good night."_

A moment passes, and then Adrien hears a loud _slam._

Plagg suddenly appears over his right shoulder, and asks in a quieter-than-usual voice, "Is now really a good time? Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

"Hide, Plagg," he hisses, and his Kwami conceals himself in his shirt pocket once again.

Adrien waits for a moment to make sure that his father is really off the phone. Then, after a deep breath, he raises his fist and knocks on the door.

A heartbeat of silence that seems to stretch a full hour, and then: "Yes?"

Adrien swallows. Without a moment more of hesitation, he twists the doorknob and pokes his head inside his father's office.

Gabriel doesn't even look up from his tablet. "What is it, Nathalie?" He sounds more composed than he did moments before on the phone, which gives Adrien some hope.

He clears his throat. "Uh, actually…"

At the sound of his son's voice, Mr. Agreste looks up and sets down his tablet.

"Adrien," he says, a half-greeting. "It's late. You should be in your room getting ready for bed."

"I know." He opens the door and steps fully into the room before his father can protest. "But I needed to talk to you about something important."

Gabriel pinches his nose between his forefinger and his thumb. "Your timing is abysmal. Can it not wait until tomorrow?"

Adrien shakes his head. "No, it can't."

His father wasn't expecting that, and he knows it. He peers at Adrien over the rim of his glasses.

"Go on, then," he says, waving a hand.

And Adrien wasn't expecting _that._ Now that he doesn't have to fight for the right to speak —

— he isn't quite sure what to say.

And so he stands by the door, mouth slightly agape, waiting for the words to come to him.

He suddenly remembers Marinette's design, and how much she really deserves to go to the dance that Friday — and it all comes to him in a heartbeat.

"This Friday at school is the Winter Formal," he starts, slowly, chewing on each word to make sure it comes out right. "It's the school dance. I want to go."

Gabriel nods. "And so you shall."

"No, you don't — wait, what?"

Father and son stare at each other, Adrien's expression aghast and his father indifferent.

"Your photoshoot is at the Winter Formal," Gabriel explains. "Surely Nathalie didn't neglect to mention this to you?"

He feels his ears get red. "No, she didn't mention it to me. Wait, can we back up a little? I don't understand. I thought —"

"Patience, Adrien," his father admonishes, and Adrien's mouth clamps shut. "I arranged for you to go to Winter Formal with Angélique Dupont's daughter, from _La Mode Angélique._ The photoshoot at the dance was meant to be a sort of…Christmas truce between our competing industries." He suddenly scowls, pushing his glasses further up on his nose. "Of course, her secretary just called to try and cancel the shoot — Friday night no longer fits Angélique's daughter's schedule."

"You arranged a date for me?" His voice rises in pitch just a little; he can't help it.

His father's gaze is cold. "A photoshoot is hardly a date, Adrien. That the shoot happens to take place at your school dance is merely for publicity. You need to appear more accessible to the public, and my business —"

But he breaks off, not finishing the sentence. Instead, he clears his throat. "No matter. The shoot has fallen through; we will reschedule for another location with someone else —"

"No," Adrien says.

A pause. His father raises a disbelieving eyebrow. "No?"

Adrien swallows. "What were you going to say? About your business?"

Gabriel crosses his arms. "It is not your place to ask."

"Not my place? Father, I'm as much a part of this business as you are, and you know it."

The cold silence that follows tells Adrien that he's crossed a line. The last time it happened he was twelve, arguing with his father about how he didn't like a certain design he was meant to wear for a photoshoot, and he hadn't been allowed to leave the house for three weeks. He can only imagine the punishment that is no doubt soon to come.

His father, however, surprises him by closing his eyes and letting out a long hum.

"You're so much like your mother, sometimes I forget you're mine, too."

Adrien's heart gets stuck in his throat. Before he can even begin to wonder what he means by that, however, Gabriel speaks again.

"There have been…criticisms," he says, matching his fingertips together in a triangle, "regarding my business. Some say I am too cold, and it has been impacting my designs' standing in the modern fashion realm. For a long time, I relied on you being the face of my company to propel me toward a…warmer image, for lack of better term. But with the absence of your mother…" he trails off. "We must appear as a force of goodwill and philanthropy to the public or else our reputation is tarnished." He lets out an uncharacteristic sigh. "Your mother always took care of these…unsavory reputational dithers. I am less practiced than she."

Adrien looks at his father strangely. "So you scheduled a photo shoot with Angélique Dupont's daughter, at my school dance, to boost Agreste Industries' reputation?"

"More or less."

Adrien grins. "This is perfect, then. I have a way we can both get what we want."

His father looks at him — not quite curiously, but with piqued interest. "Is that so?"

He nods and holds out his phone. "Look at this. My friend Marinette designed this dress for the Winter Formal this Friday."

Gabriel eyes the phone suspiciously, but then takes it from his son. His eyes widen. "A classmate of yours designed this?"

"Yeah. Isn't it great?"

Gabriel strokes his chin thoughtfully. "It's…stunning."

Adrien's heart soars with pride at the rare compliment. "I knew you'd like it. You know, she won one that hat competition you hosted last year."

"This is the same girl who designed the pigeon feather hat?"

Adrien nods, a little surprised that he had remembered.

"She has improved since then," he muses. Then, he holds the phone back out to Adrien. "But what is your point in showing me this, Adrien?"

He sucks in a breath. Here goes nothing.

"Let me go to Winter Formal with Marinette," he says. "Fund her dress. Tweak the design, if you want to. But include it in your holiday issue of _Agreste Industries_ and write a little featurette on Marinette. She's perfect: straight-A-student, super nice, the class representative, and an aspiring fashion designer. Have her wear her own dress to the dance on Friday and include her in the photoshoot." Unsure if his father is convinced, he adds, "Think of the headline: 'Gabriel Agreste funds local aspiring fashion designer's dream dance,' or…something like that."

His father says nothing at first. He simply stares out the opposite window with half-lidded eyes. The office is silent save the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.

Then, he asks, "Is she becoming?"

"What?"

"Your friend, Marinette. You seem fond enough of her, but will she wear the dress as well as she has designed it?"

Adrien closes his eyes for a moment, thinking, remembering Marinette's radiant smile and her smooth skin; the brilliant blue of her eyes and her shiny, soft hair like the midnight sky —

He opens his eyes again, and, shaking away his embarrassment at the realization, admits, "Yes. She's, uh, probably the prettiest girl in my grade. Leagues prettier than Chloe, and probably Angélique Dupont's daughter, too."

Gabriel purses his lips. "Interesting."

Adrien shoves his phone in his pocket. Suddenly, with his burning cheeks and his tongue-tiedness, he wants nothing more than to retreat to his bedroom and bury himself in a pile of blankets. Still, he pushes on.

"So?" he prompts.

Gabriel pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose again. Then, with a relinquishing sigh, he says, "Bring your friend Marinette to my office immediately after school tomorrow. Do _not_ be late, or I will rescind my offer. And let it be known that I can and will not hesitate to rescind my offer at any point in this process." His gaze flicks up to lock eyes with Adrien. "Do you understand?"

Adrien beams. "Yes." Breathlessly, he adds, "Thank you, father. You have no idea what this means to me."

Gabriel waves a hand. "Yes, yes, now go to bed before I change my mind."

And despite the cold dismissal, Adrien leaves his father's office and returns to his room with a skip in his step. For the first time in his life, he went to spar with his father and _won._

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the lucky charm Marinette gave to him so many months ago, staring at the strand of beads fondly and with an inexplicable joy. It hasn't failed him yet.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Adrien waits in the school foyer for Marinette to arrive.

He can see the Dupain-Cheng bakery from the school steps. His gaze doesn't leave the door. There's only five more minutes before class starts, and he can't help but worry that she won't arrive. All of the other students have already gone inside, including Nino and Alya, so he waits for her alone.

"She might not come today, Adrien. She was pretty sick yesterday," Alya had said. "What's the big deal, anyway?"

He hadn't responded — he didn't want to speak too soon about his father's offer. For now, Marinette is the only one who needs to know.

Plagg peeps out of his jacket pocket. "You think she's gonna show?"

"She has to," he says. "She doesn't take sick days, remember?"

And then, almost on cue, the bakery door swings open to reveal none other than Marinette Dupain-Cheng. He can't help the huge smile that comes to his face.

Plagg huffs at his expression. "You're whipped."

"Like meringue," Adrien agrees. When Plagg balks, however, he adds, "Totally joking — she's just a friend. I just couldn't resist the half-pun."

"Half-pun?" Plagg questions. "I don't think that even counts as a fourth-pun."

"What, you don't get it? Meringue, baker's daughter?"

"Yeah, definitely one of your weaker ones."

Adrien sighs. "Shut it, Plagg." He looks up to see her cross the street. "Now hide, she's coming."

Plagg slips back inside his pocket, and Adrien waves at Marinette. She doesn't notice him at first — she's probably too wrapped up in getting to school on time. She isn't wearing a scarf today, and her nose looks less red. He smiles; maybe she's feeling better.

"Marinette!" he calls, finally garnering her attention.

She, however, is taken by surprise, and trips, falling face-first onto the sidewalk. He dashes over to her and extends an arm to help her up, which she gladly takes.

"A-Adrien!" She's breathless. "Sorry, I didn't see your voice there — I mean see there your hear." She releases an explosive sigh, hanging her head in defeat. "You get it."

He nods, unable to contain his smile — and with a brashness he only ever finds when he's behind the mask of Chat Noir, he jumps right to the point: "Come to Winter Formal with me."

She blinks once. Twice. Then dissolves into giggles.

"I'm hallucinating," she says through her laughter. "You know, I thought I was feeling better today, but I — you're still a dream. I mean, I'm still dreaming. Right?"

He shakes his head. "No, listen, I —" he cuts off abruptly, realizing that what he must tell her might be a huge invasion of privacy. He says it anyway. "I took a picture of the dress you designed for Winter Formal — without your permission, and I'm sorry. But I showed it to my father —"

"You showed my father to your dress?!" she squeaks.

"Your dress to my father, yeah," he answers in stride.

"I _am_ dreaming."

"No, you're not," he says, unable to resist the laugh that bubbles straight from his heart. He used to think her antics strange, but now he's finding it more and more endearing. He goes on, "He wants to meet you after school today to talk about making the dress and wearing it in a photoshoot with me on Friday at the dance." He pauses, then grabs her by the shoulders. "Please say yes."

She just stares at him with wide eyes. Then, she opens her mouth —

— and lets out a sneeze.

" _AH-CHOO!"_

There's snot running down her nose and her eyes are watery with tears. He laughs. He can't help it.

And then she laughs, too, and — and he's taken aback by the sparkle in her eyes; her genuine smile.

"Let's get you some tissues," he says. "I can explain more in class."

She nods, allowing him to lead her toward the school building with his hand at the small of her back. In a very congested voice, she says, "I'm gonna need you to explain really slowly."

He smiles. "I will, I promise."

For once, he doesn't miss the sudden pinkness of her cheeks — but he tactfully chooses to ignore the pinkness of his own.

* * *

As the day goes on, Marinette starts to feel worse.

She manages to ride off the utter confusion and adrenaline rush that is oh-my-God-Adrien-Agreste-is-taking-me-to-Winter-Formal for the first half of the day, but by the time she reaches physics class, she feels her knees getting weak.

At one point during the class, Alya nudges her in the ribs.

"Should you go to the nurse?" she whispers. "You look really pale."

Marinette shakes her head, offering her friend a feeble smile. "No, I'm fine."

She hasn't told Alya about Winter Formal yet — Adrien made her promise to keep it a secret for the time being. She can still scarcely believe it herself. If her illness weren't bogging her down so much, she thinks, she would have floated off into the stratosphere by now. She's actually a little grateful that her cold seems to be keeping her level-headed — for now.

She sniffles, wondering if maybe she should take another aspirin before she goes to Adrien's house that afternoon. But she doesn't have any medicine on her — and she's afraid that if she goes to the nurse, she'll be sent home. If she's sent home, Mama and Papa certainly won't let her go to Adrien's house later in the day for their meeting with Mr. Agreste.

Mr. Damocles' voice suddenly comes on over the school intercom:

" _Good afternoon, students. There has been an akuma detected nearby the school, so we're going on lockdown — effective, er, immediately! Teachers, please follow code yellow akuma alert procedures!"_

Marinette groans. An akuma, now? Today, of all days? She can barely focus on the physics lecture with her stomach churning the way it is, let alone capture an akuma.

Alya gives her a strange look. "You okay, girl? It's just a code yellow. Nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, I'm — actually, I think I'll go to the nurse after all."

Alya smiles, and rubs her back a few times in a gesture of comfort. "I think that's a good idea."

In the stir that follows Mr. Damocles' announcement, it isn't hard for Marinette to slip out of the classroom undetected. She starts down the hallway to the bathroom with a little less pep in her step than usual. She doesn't think she's ever dreaded becoming Ladybug this much, not since the first day she got the earrings and she tried to trap Tikki in a jar.

"Marinette?"

She looks up, a little dazed, to find none other than Adrien. Even as ill as she is, she knows his class schedule by heart: he should be in economics right now, not wandering the hallways without a pass.

"Hi, Adrien," she greets, unable to muster even a small smile. Her stomach feels like a boiling pot of water. She needs — to lie down, or to go to the bathroom. She isn't sure.

His eyebrows pull together in concern. "Why are you out here during an akuma alert? It isn't safe."

Her heart flutters with the knowledge that he's worried for her. The warmth in her cheeks distracts her from the swirling in her stomach long enough to respond, "I could ask you the same question. Besides, it's just a code yellow." She grapples for the balcony railing, suddenly swaying on her feet. "I, uh, was going to the nurse. For some aspirin."

He approaches her with a deep frown. "Are you not feeling well again?"

She shakes her head, scrunching her eyes shut to ease the pain in her head. "Not really," she replies. What an understatement. Her head suddenly feels full of helium. Maybe she'll float up to the stratosphere after all.

Adrien must realize what's happening, because he reaches his arm out to steady her.

"Hey, come on," he says, his voice soft with concern. She doesn't fully register what he's saying. "Let me take you to the —"

The wall next to them explodes.

Everything moves in slow motion for a moment. Bricks and wood splinters fly toward them, and the force of the explosion topples the banister that she's holding onto.

In her sickly state, she can't quite decide if she's hallucinating or not, but she thinks she sees Adrien fly backwards —

— no, it's _her._ She's flying off the balcony, down to the gymnasium below. Before she can slip fully off the platform, Adrien grabs her wrist.

His lips mouth her name. She doesn't hear him. Her ears are still ringing from the explosion.

It takes her eyes a few seconds to focus, but when they do, she sees a very large… _something_ looming behind Adrien that can only be the akuma.

Her mind kicks into high gear: the akuma alert was only a code yellow, which meant it had to have been a few miles away from the school at the time of the announcement. How did the akuma get here so fast? Super speed. And he's huge? Unfair. So they're dealing with a giant-speed-guy. Looks like he might be — a polar bear? A giant polar bear? And she's —

— and she's hanging from the second floor balcony of her school, and Adrien's grip can't hold her forever, and the akuma is _right behind him._

She grabs hold of the ledge with her other hand, shoving herself back up onto the platform with a flash of adrenaline. Adrien looks at her with wide eyes — probably surprised at her strength.

"You've got to…go," she says, breathless, gasping for air. Her heart is _pounding_ from the effort of having pulled herself up.

Meanwhile, giant-polar-bear-akuma is — thankfully — ignoring them, instead stomping its way toward the biology classrooms. Her brain manages another few calculations: is Chloe in that class right now? No. Who is he after?

"Marinette?"

Who's in biology? Nino and Alya are both in physics. Ivan, Mylène, Max — all in physics. Alix? Kim?

" _Marinette."_

Adrien is — holding her face with both hands. She finally locks eyes with him.

"Are you alright?" he asks, and he dictates every word like he's already asked the question several times. And maybe he has — she'd be none the wiser. Her mind is _reeling,_ and she knows it's the sickness and the fact that she almost just _died,_ but she can't seem to get her breaths to even out.

She tries to focus, tries _not_ to think about how warm his hands are, tries to remember how to speak.

She opens her mouth —

— and then throws her head over the balcony, retching up the contents of her stomach.

"Oh, Mari," she hears Adrien say, but it sounds like he's in another room.

In the back of her mind, she feels hand that must be his rubs her back in big, soothing circles. Moments later, he's keeping her bangs out of her eyes, too. She doesn't have the coherency to be even slightly embarrassed, and for that, she's admittedly grateful.

When she's done, she slumps backwards, hitting his chest. He's right behind her but he doesn't move, allowing her to curl weakly into him.

She's not going to last long; she knows it the moment her toes and her fingers start tingling. But that doesn't mean she doesn't fight desperately to stay above the torrent of water that's dead-set on drowning her.

"We've got to get you to the nurse," she hears Adrien say somewhere amidst all the ringing in her ears, and he wipes her hair away from her forehead. His voice is thick, heavy with worry.

She tries to open her eyes but her lids are so _heavy._ She manages to rasp in objection, "The Akuma…"

But Adrien isn't having it. "I'm sure Ladybug and Chat Noir will take care of it."

She lasts only long enough to realize that Adrien has scooped her into his arms, and then she's out like a lamp.


	5. Chapter 5

By the time Adrien has safely dropped off Marinette at the nurse and found a private place to transform, he's already exhausted.

Plagg pops out from his shirt pocket. His expression is more frantic than Adrien has ever seen it.

"Where's pig-tail girl?" he asks, looking around. "Are we in a supply closet?"

"At the nurse, and yes," Adrien answers. "No time to explain. Plagg, _claws —"_

"No!" Plagg objects, breaking Adrien's summons.

A terse silence falls between them. Adrien hears the akuma pounding upstairs. It must be after someone in the biology classrooms.

"Come on, Plagg, we haven't got time for this!" he growls, unable to deal with his Kwami's cheese-obsession today.

"No, you don't understand!" Plagg responds, equally heated. "We can't go out there without Ladybug! We don't stand a chance!"

Adrien scoffs. "That's what you're worried about? When has Ladybug ever not shown up for an akuma attack? I'm sure she'll get here soon."

Plagg's eyes narrow like he wants to say something more, but he shakes his head with a resigned sigh.

"Just…be careful, alright, kid?" he mumbles. "I've got a feeling this might be a long fight." Like an afterthought, he adds under his breath, "Tikki's gonna owe me for this one."

Adrien tilts his head to one side in confusion. He wants to ask what Plagg means by that, but the ceiling above them starts to shake and he hears several students' screams.

His eyes narrow in determination.

"Plagg, _claws out."_

* * *

"Marinette…"

Her entire body feels like it's been pressed between an iron and an anvil.

"Marinette, please wake up."

She feels like she's floating —

"Marinette, we don't have anymore time to spare!"

Her eyes flutter open. Tikki is hovering right in front of her nose.

"T…Tikki?" she stammers, rubbing her eyes. "What's happening? I don't remember anything."

"You threw up, and then you kind of…passed out in Adrien's arms," Tikki explains. She buries her face in Marinette's neck affectionately. "He brought you to the nurse."

"But — the akuma!"

She tries to swing her legs up and over the side of the nurse's makeshift bed, but her head swims the moment she tries to sit up.

"Ugh," she groans, slamming her palm against her forehead. "Tikki, I don't feel so good."

Tikki zooms over to hover in front of her nose. "I know," she says. "But you've got to transform. My powers can make you feel better while you're Ladybug." Her eyes softened. "Just, make sure you're somewhere safe when you de-transform after the fight, okay? There's no telling what you'll feel like after my magic isn't helping you out."

She manages a half-smile, despite her current feelings of ill-humor. "I'll be careful. Come on, Tikki — I'm sure Chat Noir is freaking out right about now. How long have I been out?"

Tikki ducks her head slightly. "About…about an hour."

Marinette blinks.

"An hour?!" she cries in despair. " _What?!"_

"I couldn't get you up any sooner!" Tikki protests, fluffing out her little fairy wings in defense. "That's what I meant when I said we don't have anymore time to spare!"

Marinette wobbles her way off the bed. Once her feet are planted on the floor, she says, "Okay, Tikki. Let's get this over with. _Spots on!"_

* * *

He's been at this akuma fight for — well, he doesn't know how long now, but he's _exhausted._

The akuma, self-labeled Polarant, is not just large, but _fast._ After practically destroying the entire school, Chat Noir managed to lure him to the stadium downtown for their battle.

Plagg was right: Ladybug is nowhere to be found, and it's taking its toll on him. He isn't stupid; he knows that he can't use Cataclysm until Ladybug arrives or else he'd have to de-transform, feed Plagg, and re-transform — all while leaving Paris defenseless.

Polarant lets out a huge roar as he hits it with his staff.

He sighs. "Come on, Ladybug. Where _are_ you?"

And then, he hears it: the familiar zinging of a yo-yo string.

From seemingly nowhere, Ladybug swings in and kicks Polarant right in the muzzle, taking him by surprise and forcing him to the ground.

"You took your time!" he snaps. He can't help it — he's a little angry that she left him to defend Paris by himself for so long.

Ladybug lands next to him with a huff.

"I'm really sorry," she says, and her voice sounds sincere enough. "I wasn't feeling well, and I — I was kind of incapacitated until now, to be honest."

He scoffs at the irony. "There must be something going around."

Polarant speed-lunges at them. He's used to the akuma's super-speed movements by now. Ladybug, on the other hand, is not: she's unable to dodge, and her chest meets the ugly end of Polarant's outstretched paw, slamming her into the sidelines of the field.

"Ladybug!" he calls, his voice rising in pitch. He uses his staff to propel himself over to her, putting a fair amount of distance between himself and the akuma.

Ladybug doesn't move, not even when he gets on his knees to kneel next to her.

His throat clenches. "Ladybug?"

Her eyes fly open, and then she squints from the sun. She sits up, her hand shielding her vision.

When their eyes meet, she simply utters, "Oh."

He raises an eyebrow at her. "What?"

"You're a dream," she says, dazedly — and then shakes her head violently. "Sorry, I thought —your eyes — we've got to finish this, _now."_

Her voice is more urgent than he's ever heard it, so he just nods. Something is wrong with her today. He wishes he could ask — after all, it isn't every day she comments on his eyes — but it seems now isn't the best time.

Putting a hand behind her back to help her stand, he says, "The akuma's gotta be in that belt around his waist."

Ladybug nods. "Obvious placement. Hawkmoth went easy on us today, thank goodness."

They make quick work of the akuma: Ladybug calls for her Lucky Charm and receives a huge pot of molasses, which they use to slow Polarant long enough to take his belt and destroy it. When the battle is over, Ladybug restores the peace of the universe — and not a moment too soon, seeing as an hour has passed since the incident began.

The victim is confused at the end of the fight, but frankly, Chat Noir is way more concerned about Ladybug. After gently telling the aquarium-keeper to go home, he approaches her where she stands at the sidelines, unsteady on her feet.

"My lady, I —" he starts, but she shakes her head.

"We don't have time," she says, her voice breathless. Her chest is heaving with the effort of every breath. "Chat, I need you to do me a favor."

He's overwhelmed by the wave of emotions that crash against his heart — he wants to sweep her into his arms and take her somewhere safe, tuck her into bed, and give her a bowl of soup.

"Anything, Ladybug," he says, his words genuine. He rests a hand on her shoulder and squeezes reassuringly. "Tell me what I can do."

She leans into his touch — the first time he can remember her doing so in ages. She must be really out of it, he realizes. He wonders, briefly, what's gotten into his Lady and Marinette this week. There must be something in the water.

"I need you to bring me to the the school roof," she says. Her eyes are full of pain.

He nods. "That's perfect. There's someone at the school I need to check on, anyway."

Ladybug willingly melts into his arms, and he tries to ignore the fire in his cheeks. There are more important things to worry about than the state of his heart.

"Hold on tight, my lady," he murmurs —

— and then they're off.

* * *

Adrien returns to his home that evening under a raincloud of disappointment.

After dropping off Ladybug, he went — as Adrien, not Chat Noir — to the school nurse to see if Marinette was feeling better. But she was nowhere to be found, and now he is returning home empty-handed for their meeting. His father is going to ground him, or, worse, never let him return to school again.

But when he walks into the grand entry hall, he's surprised to find his father is nowhere to be found. In fact, the entire house seems eerily quiet — even more so than usual.

Finally, he finds Nathalie in the kitchen with her tablet. She glances up at him when he enters.

"You're home late," she admonishes.

"I got caught up in the Akuma attack," he explains.

She pushes her glasses up on her nose. "I suppose that's fair. I hear it was a particularly bad case."

He nods. "The school was on lockdown for hours."

He pauses to look around the kitchen. There's no sign of any life — no Gorilla, no chef, no servants — nothing.

"Where's my father?" he asks, carefully. "We were supposed to have a meeting with my friend, Marinette."

Nathalie barely even looks up from her tablet. "As it turns out," she says, "your father was compromised during the attack today, as well, and is consequently exhausted. He asked me to reschedule your meeting for tomorrow afternoon."

Adrien blinks several times before he can even think of a response. He can't believe his luck. Not only is he apparently not-grounded, but Marinette has the rest of the day to rest before she has to report for their meeting with his father.

Still, he worries. "Is father alright?" he asks, running a hand through his hair.

Nathalie pushes her glasses up again. "He will be."

He waits for Nathalie to say something more — like his schedule for that evening, or what they're having for dinner, but she doesn't. She just keeps scrolling through her tablet.

"Well, thanks, Nathalie," he says, turning to leave.

"Adrien."

He stops, one hand on the doorframe, his head hanging down to look at the floor. He knew it was too easy.

But Nathalie's voice remains even as ever. "Get some rest tonight. There's something going around, and your father would certainly be unhappy if you fell ill before the photoshoot this Friday."

Adrien sighs. "I know. Two of my friends have already gotten sick, and it's only Tuesday."

Nathalie lets a rare half-smile slip onto her features. "I fear I may be coming down with something myself. You probably passed it on to me."

He grins. "Probably. Sorry, Nathalie."

He leaves the kitchen with a lighter chest. He's still confused about Ladybug's behavior and worried about Marinette, but at least the photoshoot is still on and he isn't banned from school. That's more success than he can say for most days.

* * *

Marinette's mom takes the thermometer from her mouth, looks at the little numbers on the screen, and frowns.

"One hundred and two degrees on the dot," she says, wiping the end of the thermometer on her apron. "No school for you tomorrow, young lady."

"But mom —" she protests, but her mother waggles an admonishing finger in front of her face and gently guides Marinette back to her pile of pillows.

Sabine smiles, though sadly. "You've got to be the only daughter in all of Paris who's upset to have a day off of school, Mari."

"It's not school I'm upset about — not really," she says, curling into a ball and tucking her chin in between her knees. Her mom looks at her curiously, so she clarifies in a quiet voice, "Adrien asked me to Winter Formal."

Sabine's eyes widen, and then crinkle at the corners with mirth. "But sweetheart, that's wonderful!"

Marinette smiles a little, unable to help herself. "Yeah, it is, but…"

And, not for the first time, she _desperately_ wants to tell her mother everything: she wants to talk about the dress, the meeting with Gabriel (that she's now missed), the akuma attack, the fact that she's _Ladybug, heroine of Paris —_

But she bites her tongue, instead choosing to say, "I'm just worried I won't be well enough to go by this Friday."

Her mom's eyes soften. She tucks a piece of hair behind Marinette's ear and says, "Don't worry, Mari. I'm sure you'll feel better after a day of rest, hm?"

Marinette knows better than to protest. Instead, she lets out a big sigh, sinking deeper into her pillows. "I _am_ really tired. My whole body aches."

Sabine chuckles. "I bet it does. I heard the school was on lockdown for hours — it must have been very draining."

She grimaces. "You have no idea."

Her mom leans over to turn off her bedside lamp. "Why don't you try to get some sleep? I'll come up and check on you in an hour, but just call if you need anything."

She's already fading. The lack of light in her room has her eyes fluttering. It can't be later than seven o'clock, but she feels like she could sleep for a whole day _._

"Okay. Thanks, mom. I love you."

Sabine smiles as she approaches the trap door. "I love you, too, sweetie. Don't stress about tomorrow. I'll call the school and let them know what's up."

As Sabine retreats back downstairs, she rolls over onto her side and curls into a ball.

Now that her mother is gone, she drops her brave face and let's out an explosive sigh. She's upset about missing the meeting. Her body hurts. Her chest aches — for Adrien or from sickness, she can't tell. There's a big lump in her throat, but she's too tired to cry, so she just lies there and furrows her eyebrows together, thinking.

Tikki whizzes out from her hiding spot and tucks herself gently into the crook of Marinette's neck.

"I wish my mom could call Hawkmoth and let _him_ know what's up," she mumbles absentmindedly, feeling the waves of sleepiness starting to take over amidst her pounding headache and nauseous stomach.

Tikki giggles lightly. "I'm sure she would if she knew, Marinette." Leaving the crook of her neck to fly in front of Marinette's face, she asks, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Not unless you've got any healing magic I don't know about, or you can find a way to reschedule the meeting of my dreams. I totally blew it." She sighs, scrunching her eyes shut.

"You didn't blow anything," Tikki consoles. "You can't predict when an akuma will come. It isn't your fault."

"I know." She can barely hold her voice at a whisper for fear of crying. "Tikki, I love you, and I love what we do, but sometimes I wish being Ladybug didn't mean I had to put being Marinette on the back burner."

Tikki nods. "You're not the first Ladybug to have said that. I know it's hard, but you put others before yourself. You save people; you're a hero!"

"Who's gonna be my hero, Tikki?" she sighs. It's more of a thought squeaking its way out of her mouth than a real question. She's too tired for real questions.

Tikki laughs lightly. "I don't think you need one, Mari. You're strong enough on your own." She nuzzles into her neck again. "You're _sure_ there's nothing I can do?"

Her body wracks with shivers, but she's still sweating. "Actually, if you wouldn't mind opening the trap door above the bed just a crack — I'm a little hot."

Tikki flies up to the door. "Okay, but just a little. I don't want the draft to make you more sick, you know?"

But Marinette doesn't respond — she's snoring before the door even clicks open.

* * *

 _(What's up, next chapter is my favorite so I'll try to upload it sometime this week. Smooches 'til then, friends. 3)_


	6. Chapter 6

The grandfather clock in the hall chimes one o'clock in the morning, and Adrien is lying awake, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom.

He'd managed to doze off around ten thanks to sheer exhaustion, but a nightmare had jarred him awake only a few hours later. The dream had been unfairly vivid: it depicted the scene from earlier in the day, when the wall at the school had exploded and Marinette had fallen off the side. Except in the dream, it had been Ladybug, not Marinette, who slipped from his grasp — and he'd been unable to catch her.

Now, the dream clutches at him as he stares, unmoving, at the ceiling. His breaths rise and fall evenly and he doesn't disturb Plagg, who is sleeping all-too-unaware of his charge's plight right next to his ear, using Adrien's hair as a blanket.

He doesn't want to wake Plagg up, but —

— but the dream was so _vivid,_ and Ladybug was acting so strangely earlier today.

He turns over onto his side to face Plagg, who is disturbed at his blanket being yanked from his grasp.

"Plagg," he whispers.

"Mnnnugh…"

" _Plagg."_

Plagg's bright green eyes blink open. "Mmmf…Uch. What? What time is it?"

"I don't know," he lies, not too keen on getting a lecture from Plagg about waking him up at this hour. "Were you asleep?"

"Huh, me? No," Plagg waves his little arms defensively, but his yawn doesn't escape Adrien's notice. "Just, uh, dozing. What's up?"

Adrien flops onto his back to stare at the ceiling again. "I'm worried about Ladybug."

Plagg stretches his arms, yawns, and then flies in front of Adrien's nose. "I'm worried about my stomach. You got any camembert?"

Adrien glares at him. "Come on, Plagg. I'm serious. She was acting super weird today, don't you think?"

Plagg shrugs. "I mean, sure, but even super heroes have off-days. She'll be fine." He crosses his arms, and continues nonchalantly, "If I were you, I'd be way more worried about Marinette."

He blinks. "Marinette?"

"Yup. Camembert?"

Adrien sighs, but swings his feet over the side of the bed to walk over to his mini-fridge, which has become designated specifically for camembert. After pulling out a chunk and tossing it to Plagg, he asks, "Why do you think I should be worried about Marinette?"

"She literally almost fell off the school balcony and then threw up a few seconds later — and _then_ she was still worried about the akuma after that," Plagg explains. "And we never really checked on her after the akuma fight was said and done."

"She wasn't at the school nurse," he protests. "What else was I supposed to do?"

"Make sure she made it home safe?" Plagg suggests. "Marinette lives close to the school, doesn't she? You could've checked."

He's about to defend himself from Plagg's attack, but something catches his attention. "You know," he starts, suspicion in his tone, "you hardly call any of my friends by name, let alone worry about their wellbeing. Why this sudden soft spot for Marinette?"

Through a mouthful of cheese, Plagg replies, "She's — umf, uum — nice."

Adrien raises an eyebrow. "She's nice," he repeats dryly.

Plagg swallows another slice of camembert. His next words are painfully casual for the weight they carry: "She does a lot for you that you don't see."

Adrien doesn't speak for a moment, trying instead to figure out exactly what Plagg means by that. He thinks he does a pretty good job of appreciating his friends — so how has Marinette's supposed 'niceness' escaped his notice, and not Plagg's?

Unable to crack Plagg's uncharacteristic crypticness, he finally asks, "What do you mean?"

But the moment of transparency is gone, and Plagg shrugs as he finishes off his wheel of camembert. "Nothing. Pig-tail girl isn't special. I just think you should've checked up on her."

Adrien sits on his bed — but then an idea occurs to him.

"Well, maybe you're right, Plagg," he says. "I _should_ check up on her. It's not like I can sleep, anyway."

Plagg glares at him. "Oh, no. We are not doing this. You can't keep _tricking_ me like this —"

"Plagg, _claws out!"_

* * *

The night is dark, and Adrien might not have been able to make it to Marinette's house in the pitch black, but Chat Noir can.

He pauses for a moment on the rooftop across from the Dupain-Cheng bakery. He isn't exactly sure what he plans to do, but he can't exactly knock on the front door at one in the morning.

He leaps from the rooftop over to Marinette's patio as quietly as he can manage. He's surprised to find that the little trap door leading to her room has been left open — maybe to let in a breeze?

He stares at the door for a moment. Is it breaking and entering if she leaves the door open for him?

Silently and with a brashness of heart, he lifts the trap door and peeks inside.

And there she is: directly below him, sleeping soundly, is a very pale-looking Marinette. He knows she's asleep, but the eerie stillness of her body reminds him of his dream, and how he looked down over the balcony to see a lifeless, limp Ladybug —

A noise startles him. Somewhere nearby, someone opens a window.

He lets out a hiss of frustration. It might be problematic for someone to see Chat Noir peering into a girl's room at this time of night. Nowhere to hide, except —

He doesn't have time to think. He opens the door fully and slips inside Marinette's room, careful not to land on top of her but swing himself so that he lands noiselessly just to the side of her bed.

After a safe landing, he straightens up and lets out a tiny breath of relief —

— but another noise distracts him. He hears a tiny gasp from Marinette's bed.

His eyes snap to look at her, but she's still fast asleep. He crosses his arms and shakes his head at himself — he's still way too worked up over his nightmare, apparently.

Remembering his nightmare reminds him of what he came to do. Now that he's checked on Marinette — and invaded her personal space, to boot — he isn't exactly sure what to do. He feels like he should leave, but also that he doesn't exactly want to.

So he stands, silently, letting his eyes wander this top loft of her room. He's never been up here before — he's seen it from the lower level, but this little nook she's created for her bed is just as charming as the rest of the room. He's pleased to see that she sleeps with a huge cat pillow. Maybe she's a closet Chat Noir fan, after all.

But his gaze is eventually caught by the bulletin board that hangs on the wall above her pillows. It's plastered with pictures: of her and her parents, Alya, Nino, a much younger Marinette at the park, Rose and Juleka, Ivan and Mylene —

— and then, in the very corner, a picture of him. He's never seen this picture of him before, which says a lot, given that he's a model. It seems that whoever took the picture, presumably Marinette, took it from a distance as he was getting out of his limo.

Something about the picture tugs at his heart. Not the fact that it was taken from far away, but something about the care with which it's been hung on the bulletin board.

And then, he sees the neatly-written label on the white matte border: "Adrien wearing the scarf I made for his birthday."

He blinks. The scarf _she_ made?

Plagg's words suddenly ring in his mind: _She does a lot for you that you don't see._ Surely he didn't mean something like this? But how did a scarf that Marinette supposedly made end up as his father's birthday gift?

Before he can come up with the answer, however, Marinette stirs in her bed.

"Umph," she mumbles, turning over on her side so that she's facing him, now. Her eyes are still closed, but —

— but her hand suddenly reaches toward the nightstand, bumping his hip in the process.

Her eyes flutter open. Surprisingly enough, the moments that follow aren't as frantic as he imagined they might be.

" _Chaton…"_ she murmurs, pulling her hand back under the covers. She shivers, and his gaze softens as he looks at her.

"Hi, princess," he whispers, crouching next to the bed so that they're at eye-level. Ladybug calls him _chaton,_ too, and the nickname makes his heart wobble in his chest.

He reaches up to push the bangs away from her eyes, knowing all the while the intimacy of such a gesture but not caring in the slightest. She's so much calmer than when he saw her hours ago. Looking at the moonlight shining on her hair, he feels a huge weight lift from his chest.

"I'm dreaming," she mumbles — not a question, but a statement.

"Mhmm," he hums. "Pretty good dream, too, since I'm here."

But his words ruin the ruse — one of her brilliant blue eyes cracks open to peer at him suspiciously.

"No," she says, slowly, chewing on her words. "You're real. Dream-Chat is humbler than that."

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "You got me, princess."

She tries to sit up but fails — her whole body strains with the effort and sinks back into her wall of pillows.

"You know," she starts, her voice soft and groggy with sleepiness, "this is weird for me, but I'm gonna assume you have a good reason for being here…instead of freaking out…" Her breaths are heavy, probably from the sickness. "…but if you're going to insist on…breaking into my room, can you pass me that glass of water?"

He looks around, trying to locate the glass — and then grabs it and hands it to her. "Technically I didn't break in — you left the trap door open."

"Tik…um, it was hot." She takes the water and drinks a huge gulp.

"I'm here on business, actually," he explains, carefully taking the glass from her when she's done.

"Are you?" She falls back into the pillows with a huge sigh. "Please don't tell me there's another akuma in love with me. I'm not really in any state for that."

He lets out a quiet chuckle. "No, nothing like that. Actually, this one guy — Adrien Agreste, I think? — saw me after the akuma incident today and asked if I would check on you." He pauses, his voice lowering with sincerity, even though she wouldn't understand his intention. "He was worried about you, since you weren't at the school nurse when the incident was over."

"Adrien…was worried about me?" she asks, softly.

He cracks a small grin, amused at her evident surprise. "Yeah."

She suddenly sits up straight in bed, hand flying against her forehead. "The meeting with Gabriel," she groans. "I couldn't go."

"It's okay, he —" and then he clamps his mouth shut. With what he hopes sounds like genuine confusion, he asks, "What do you mean, the meeting with Gabriel? Who's Gabriel?"

"Gabriel Agreste, the fashion designer," she explains, throwing the covers off of her legs. Her voice moves like a babbling river: "Adrien showed his dad my dress design for Winter Formal and he wants to make it into an actual dress and a photoshoot and I'm a doofus and I totally _missed_ the meeting today —"

She swings her legs over the side of the bed. He realizes what she's trying to do and grabs her arm.

"Hey, you can't seriously be thinking about going to see him _right now,_ " he says, trying — to no avail — to push her back toward the bed. "It's one in the morning!"

"I've got to — I've got to…" she trails off. She's still fighting against his grip — and holding up surprisingly well, he finds. He had no idea she was so physically strong.

Unexpectedly, he feels something wet drop onto his hand.

He looks up. She's crying.

" _Hey,_ " he says, and he lets up his grip on her arm to instead hold her at arm's length.

He half expects her to bursts into sobs. She doesn't. Of course, he thinks, Marinette is stronger than that — she always has been.

She wipes her arms furiously over her eyes, but she can't hide the sniffles.

"You must think I'm a total loser," she says, quietly, through her warbling tears.

He shakes his head. "Quite the contrary."

He can feel her knees tremble from the way it wracks through her body, so he gently helps her to sit back down on the bed. She grabs the huge cat pillow and clutches it against her chest.

Without being invited, he sits next to her. She doesn't tense up, so he relaxes and, hesitantly, pats her on the back. If he weren't hiding behind a mask — if he were Adrien — he would put his arm around her and let her cry into him. But he's a coward and he always has been, so he just sits and provides companionship.

"You know," he says eventually, when her sniffles have subsided. "I think Adrien mentioned a meeting or something when I talked to him."

She looks up at him. "He did?"

He nods. "He, uh, told me to tell you not to worry about it. That he'd talk to you tomorrow at school."

She sighs. "My mom won't let me go to school tomorrow. I'm too sick."

"Hmm," he hums. "Well, today's only Tuesday, right? And the Winter Formal isn't until Friday night. So maybe there will still be time for everything to work."

Silence. He wonders if he's said something wrong.

Then, Marinette crosses her legs and turns toward him.

"Can I tell you a secret, _chaton?"_ she asks.

He nods, a little surprised, but he supposes that people like to put their trust in public figures, even strong girls like Marinette. So he puts on his best smoldering smile and says, "You can tell me anything, Princess."

She holds his gaze for only a moment, completely unaffected by his prince-charming antics (amazing, he thinks, because it works on almost every girl besides her and Ladybug).

Then her eyes flash to the bulletin board of pictures above her bed. To the picture of Adrien — of him.

"I don't care about the dress, or the photoshoot," she says quietly. "I was just happy Adrien wanted to take me to the formal."

This catches him off guard. Marinette wanted to go to the formal with him even before the meeting with his father?

He tries to hide his surprise, but is unable to help his curiosity: "You mean, you don't just wanna go with him because he's a model?"

She laughs, though there isn't much mirth in the sound. "It's not about the modeling — it never has been."

Before he can ask what she means by that, she stares at the floor, and adds quietly, almost resignedly, "I fell for him the second he gave me that umbrella."

He blinks. With a single sentence, Marinette Dupain-Cheng has thrown his world upside-down.

She _likes_ him?

He stares at her — he can't help it. He has no idea what to say. Nothing has prepared him for this. He doesn't know why his heart feels like it's about to jump out of his chest.

She looks back at him. _"Now_ you think I'm a loser — right?"

Something whispers through him _,_ like wind chimes sing in a spring breeze.

Maybe he isn't as much of a coward as he thought, because he reaches over and playfully ruffles Marinette's hair. "No — just a big _goofball."_

She bats his hand away but smiles, and this time it reaches her eyes. "Stop it, _chaton."_

"You know, you're way too pretty for Adrien. _You_ ought to be the model."

Now she's laughing. He changes from ruffling her hair to tickling her sides.

"N-No, don't," she giggles, gasps, "my — my parents will hear!"

"Well then I'll sign an autograph for them and send them back to bed," he replies, continuing to tickle her as she flops onto the bed.

But then her breath catches and she breaks into a fit of coughs.

"Oh, jeez." He takes his hands away. "Sorry, I completely forgot —"

"Surprise attack!"

She reaches up to tickle his sides — and he can't help the laughter, as much as he tries.

 _"_ _Chaton,_ you're ticklish! Wait 'til I leak this to the Ladyblog."

"No, princess, _do not_ —"

Marinette suddenly stops, frozen. He thinks that she's just letting him breathe, but then he hears it, too: the pounding of feet on the stairs.

"You should go," she whispers fiercely.

"You mean you don't think an autograph would suffice?"

She gives him a pointed expression that reminds him of Ladybug's reaction to his puns. He grins.

He ruffles her hair one last time, and then pounces from her bed up through the trap door and onto the patio. Peeking at her through the opening, he whispers, "Sleep well, Princess."

Her expression is suddenly grave. "Chat, please don't tell anyone —"

"I won't, I swear." In a less sincere voice, he adds, "As long as you don't tell the Ladyblog that I'm ticklish."

She grins. "I won't. Thank you, _chaton_ — for everything."

He winks before shutting the trap door. Once it's closed, he lets out a breath.

Her words still weigh heavy on her heart. He finds he wanted to thank her, too — Marinette likes _him._ Not the model. Just him.


	7. Chapter 7

When Marinette wakes up the next morning, her head feels lighter.

In fact, her entire body feels as if she's floating on a cloud. She opens her eyes and is greeted by a golden beam of winter sunlight coming in through a window — a rarity in mid-December Paris.

She smiles. Sighs. Realizes that she can breathe through her nose, and takes as big of a breath as her lungs can hold until she feels like she might burst.

Tikki still snores softly on the edge of her pillow, so Marinette is careful not to wake her as she shoves the covers off of her legs and sits up to stretch.

She checks the clock: 10:00 AM. She would be in biology right now, with Alya and Nino and Adrien.

 _Adrien._

She blinks, suddenly remembering last night's visit from Chat Noir and how she at least sort of revealed her crush on Adrien. She wonders, briefly, if the whole thing was some elaborate dream. After all, there's no sign that anything in her room is amiss —

— except for the fact that her trap door is just _slightly_ ajar.

She groans. "Oh, boy."

Tikki stirs from her sleep, blinking sleepily. "Marinette? What's wrong?"

"Adrien crushes about my knows Chat Noir. I mean —" she takes a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "Chat Noir knows about my crush on Adrien."

Tikki smiles — then frowns. Then, she giggles.

"Why are you laughing? You're supposed to commiserate with me!" Marinette protests, putting her hands on her hips.

"Sorry, Marinette," her kwami says through her giggles. "It's just funny."

Marinette frowns. "It's not funny. I probably shouldn't have told him, right?"

Tikki shakes her head. "Probably not. But I bet things are about to get interesting around here."

"Jeez. You don't think Chat would tell Adrien…do you?"

"I don't know, Marinette," Tikki says, still giggling. "I wouldn't put it past him."

"Come on Tikki, be serious!" She grabs a pillow and shoves it against her stomach. "Well, my life is over."

Tikki stops giggling, so the room is quiet for a moment. She happens to have picked up her big cat pillow. The face of the cat stares at her. A tiny smile wiggles its way onto her lips.

"Actually, Chat Noir was pretty nice to me last night, wasn't he?" she comments casually.

Tikki moves to sit on the cat pillow so that she's almost eye-level with Marinette. "He was. Ever since the Glaciator incident, he's been showing a more sensitive side."

She nods. "Yeah. I really had no idea he could be —"

"But Marinette, I —" Tikki cuts in, and then stops abruptly, as if having second thoughts about what she's about to say.

She looks down at her Kwami, surprised at the little interruption. "What's up?"

With a small sigh, Tikki says rather slowly, "You have to be careful, okay? Night visits from Chat Noir can't become a regular thing. Your identities _must_ stay a secret, and if you learn too much about each other —"

"I know, Tikki," she says, bopping her Kwami on the nose with her pointer finger. "Don't worry. It won't happen again. I'll be sure to keep the trap door closed from now on."

Tikki smiles. "Great. You're the best, Marinette."

Marinette wants to respond, but when she looks across the room and catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she stops. Her hair is _terribly_ ruffled from Chat's antics the previous night. Despite her promise to Tikki, she can't help a tiny bit of disappointment when she realizes that they probably won't be able to just relax and be teenagers — not superheroes — like that again anytime soon.

Tikki flies toward the center of the loft and spins in a circle, pulling Marinette from her thoughts. "So! What should we do with our day off?"

Marinette smiles. "Other than wait to somehow miraculously find out what's happening with Adrien and the meeting with his Dad?" She looks around the room. "Actually…I do have a _small_ idea. How do you feel about some sewing?"

Tikki looks at her with puppy eyes. "Can we listen to the new Laura Nightingale album?"

"Of course!" She trudges down the staircase from her bed-loft to pull up the digital album on her computer. "No sick day would be complete without Laura Nightingale."

* * *

Adrien can't focus.

He keeps staring at the empty seat in front of him, the one where Marinette usually sits. It's empty — she's at home sick, as she said she would be — and yet he still stares, wishing, for whatever reason, she would magically show up.

Nino elbows him in the ribs, shaking him from his thoughts. He tilts his head toward his friend, wondering why he wanted his attention, and then he hears from the front of the classroom:

"Adrien? Did you hear me?"

Ms. Bustier is staring at him, her expression almost concerned.

"Uh…no," he says, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Ms. Bustier. Can you repeat the question?"

"I asked whether you think that Benedick is in love with Beatrice before the events of Act 3," she explains, her voice clearer and slower than usual, probably in an attempt to help him understand her question.

Adrien appreciates the gesture, but it's lost on his scattered brain. "Oh," is all he says. He sucks in a breath, trying to formulate an opinion after paying attention to almost none of the discussion thus far. "I think…I don't know. He's definitely falling for her, though."

Alya raises her hand.

Ms. Bustier nods toward her. "Yes, Alya?"

"I think," Alya starts, "that they've been in love since way before the play started. They just don't know it yet, or they won't acknowledge it."

Ms. Bustier hums in the way that she does when she secretly agrees with a student. "That's an interesting idea."

But Adrien raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "But Benedick and Beatrice can't even have a normal conversation when the play starts, right? And how can you not know you're in love with someone?" He crosses his arms over his chest. "Isn't love a feeling that's, you know, pretty recognizable?"

Alya shrugs. "Who knows. Maybe Benedick's never been in love before, so it's harder for him to identify the feeling." She pauses, pushing her glasses up slightly on her nose. With biting tacitness, she adds, "Besides, I think sometimes people who are in love deny their feelings because it's easier than facing the truth."

Ms. Bustier smiles. "A very astute observation, Alya. Well done."

The bell moves to pack up their things — except for Adrien. He's stuck, still staring at Marinette's seat.

"Don't forget to read Act 4 for homework!" Ms. Bustier calls over the scramble of students heading toward the door of the classroom.

Vaguely, in the background, he hears Alya ask, "You guys wanna go to my house for lunch?"

Nino mumbles a quick response to her that Adrien can't hear. With a resigned sigh, he finally breaks eye contact with Marinette's chair, and instead gets out of his chair to start packing his books into his bag.

A few seconds pass, and Adrien looks up to realize Alya has left the classroom, but Nino is still there, watching him.

"Yo, dude," he says, grasping Adrien's shoulder. The gesture brings Adrien back to earth just a little bit. "You alright?"

Adrien manages a half-smile. "Yeah, I'm fine."

He glances at Marinette's empty chair again, and then looks up at Ms. Bustier, who is gathering her things and preparing to leave the classroom.

As if reading his thoughts, Nino pipes up, "We'll just be a sec, Ms. Bustier."

She nods. "No problem, boys." With a knowing sparkle in her eyes, she asks, "Should I close the door?"

Adrien looks at the desk, embarrassed but also grateful for her subtlety, "Uh, yeah. Thanks."

They give her a moment to leave, but after the door closes, Nino gives him a good-natured punch to the arm.

"Come on, man," Nino says, his eyes wide with compassion. "You know you can always talk to me. We're best friends. Is your dad giving you trouble again?"

Adrien sighs. "No — thankfully. For once, it's not that."

"Then what's up?"

Adrien grips the edge of their shared desk, and lets out a long sigh. Then, he looks at Nino.

"I know this sounds crazy, but," he begins, an air of caution in his tone, "I think Marinette likes me."

Nino's expression immediately drops. He swings an arm up to rub his neck apprehensively. "Marinette? Likes you? Ha-ha, I mean, why d'ya think that, dude?"

Adrien eyes his friend suspiciously. Normally he would never accuse Nino of lying, but the signs are there: his ears are red at the tips, he's stammering, and the way he's rubbing his neck would suggest —

"Nino, have you known this _entire time?"_ he asks, somewhere between disbelieving and a little upset.

"Dude, I don't know w-what you're talking about —"

"That's why you told me to take Marinette to the Winter Formal," he says, realizing the words' truth as he says them. He smacks his own forehead and lets out a little groan. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Nino sighs. "Listen, dude, you're my best friend, but Alya's my girl, and Marinette's _her_ girl, and I couldn't just give up my girl's girl's secret like that."

Adrien raises his eyebrows. "You mean you and Alya _both_ knew this was happening, and neither of you told me?"

Nino doesn't respond — but his silence is all Adrien needs to hear. He looks back down at the desk, feeling lost. Not only does Marinette indeed have a crush on him, but it seems he's the last one to find out, too.

"Marinette must think I'm a jerk," he laments, still not looking at Nino. "I mean, how could I have been so _stupid?_ This whole time I thought she was weird around me because of the umbrella incident, but really it's just that…" he trails off, at a loss.

"Well, first of all, Marinette is the last person on this planet who would think you're a jerk." Nino clasps Adrien's shoulder. "And second, this isn't a bad thing, alright? Like, Marinette's really nice, and smart, and pretty."

"Yeah, she's all of those things," Adrien agrees. "And she's super creative, and funny, and she cares about everyone —"

Nino brightens. "So what's not to like, dude?"

Adrien runs both hands through his hair and lets out a quick, frustrated breath. "Because _I love Ladybug._ You know that."

A pause. Nino takes his hand off his shoulder.

"Dude," he says, softly, "Ladybug's, like, a superhero. You can't take her to Winter Formal."

Adrien grips the chair in front of him tightly, not meeting Nino's gaze. "I _know._ But sometimes…"

He trails off again. He can feel the warmth rushing to his cheeks before he even manages to get the words out.

"Sometimes…?" Nino prompts.

He sighs, gripping the back of the chair until his knuckles turn white. "Sometimes, I think Ladybug is, like…my soulmate."

A long silence stretches between them. Adrien can feel Nino's gaze, but he can't bear to meet it.

After a while, Nino asks, "So…I take it you don't like Marinette?"

"No," he responds shortly — then, "Well, yes, of course. As a friend."

Nino scoffs. "As a friend. Right."

Adrien feels a surprising flash of frustration. He snaps his gaze toward Nino. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Nino shrugs, looking away. "I dunno. I just…"

He trails off. Now Adrien looks at him, but Nino won't meet his gaze.

"You just what?" he presses.

Nino grabs his bag up from off the floor. "I just think that…that you're kinda blinded by your love for Ladybug, dude."

"Blinded?" he questions. "Nino, I'm not blind. It's just that Ladybug is _perfect_."

Nino sighs, extending one of his hands pointedly. "See? _That's_ what I'm talking about." He slings his bag around his shoulder and starts to walk away. But then, rather abruptly, he turns back to Adrien. "I'm just saying that maybe if you weren't so infatuated with Ladybug, you wouldn't be blind to what's right in front of you, dude."

"I'm not infatuated," Adrien protests, but —

"Dude, you don't even know who she really _is."_

Nino meets his gaze. Adrien feels his heart pumping in his chest. He's never been angry with Nino before, and he doesn't particularly want to start now. He takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm down.

"Listen, bro," Nino starts. He must be feeling the same way, because his voice is cooler, more collected. "If you don't like Marinette like that, maybe you shouldn't bring her to Winter Formal after all. You don't wanna lead her on."

Adrien doesn't respond. He just looks at Marinette's empty seat again. He wonders if she's feeling any better. He'd give anything to escape this room and rewind to last night, when they were laughing and happy, and he could hide behind a mask.

"I gotta meet Alya for lunch," Nino says, interrupting his thoughts. After a slight hesitation, he adds, "We cool?"

Adrien sighs — but a small smile sneaks its way onto his features. At least Nino doesn't seem angry at him.

"Of course, man," he says. "We're cool."

Nino leaves. Adrien stays.

He looks around the classroom. A question churns in his mind: is it kinder to spare Marinette's feelings and not take her to formal, or to string her along but give her an amazing opportunity to work with his father, her idol?

He can't decide on an answer. After a final, fleeting look to her chair, he picks up his bag and leaves the room, his heart heavier than it's been in weeks.

* * *

Marinette goes to the bathroom for two seconds and returns to find her loft absolutely _covered_ in glitter.

She gasps upon opening the trap door to the room. Her hand flies over her mouth, but she stops her little scream just in time so that her parents don't hear from the bakery.

"Tikki!" she cries, climbing the rest of the way up and shutting the little door behind her. "I asked you to sprinkle some glitter on the night sky back drop — not my entire room!"

Tikki's face falls. She's holding an empty jar of glitter in her tiny arms.

"But it was…" she trails off, sniffling. "It was just so _pretty."_

Marinette sighs. She looks around at her room. Everything is sparkly — her desk, her sewing machine, her chaise.

She grins. "Well, it _is_ kinda pretty, isn't it?"

They make eye contact again, and Marinette starts to giggle. Tikki follows suit, which just makes Marinette laugh even more.

"How are your parents?" Tikki eventually asks, breaking up the giggles. "Is the bakery busy today?"

Marinette nods. "Yeah. I mean, they haven't got a ton of customers, but since I asked them to cater the desserts for our Winter Formal, they're pretty occupied with that."

"Did you ask your mom about going to meet with Adrien and Gabriel?"

She frowns. "Yeah. Mom still thinks I shouldn't leave the house, even if my fever broke."

Tikki looks at her with wide eyes. "I'm sorry, Mari. But she's right — you don't want to get anyone else sick."

Before Marinette can respond, her phone starts buzzing incessantly.

Marinette checks her watch and realizes to her dismay that it's already 3:00. "Oh man. That's probably Alya. She'll want to pick up the decorations for the dance."

Her phone is across the room, sitting on the chaise. She tiptoes her way over midnight blue curtains, starry backdrops, and party favors to reach it. Sure enough, the screen is lit up with Alya's picture.

She hits the green call button and rests it against her ear. "Hey, Alya. What's up?"

 _"_ _Hey girl. How ya feeling?"_

Marinette smiles. "I'm alright. I'm tired and my head hurts, but my fever broke and I haven't thrown up again, so that's good."

 _"_ _That's great! So are we still on to decorate our masks tonight?"_

Marinette slaps a hand against her forehead. The Winter Formal on Friday is masquerade-themed, and she's completely forgotten her promise to decorate masks with Alya tonight.

She sighs. "I'm really sorry, Alya, but my mom doesn't want me to hang out with anyone yet because she doesn't want me getting other people sick. I don't wanna bail on you, but do you think we could do it tomorrow?"

There's a short pause on the other line. Then, Alya says, _"Totally, girl. No biggie. At least you have a good reason this time, right?"_

Marinette bites her lip. The jab stings more than she can admit. Her duties as Ladybug often means that she has to cancel plans with Alya, and she can never give a good reason.

"Yeah, you know, being sick is a pretty good reason," she says, trying to sound lighthearted. "I'm really sorry, though."

 _"_ _Like I said, no worries,"_ Alya replies. _"You think your mom would at least be okay with me swinging by to pick up the decorations, though?"_

Marinette nods — and then feels silly because she remembers that Alya can't see her face. "Uh, yeah, I think that'd be fine. I got almost everything done while I've been home at school."

 _"_ _You're amazing, girl."_

"No, _you're_ amazing," Marinette protests. "Thanks for covering for me while I'm sick. You're the only person I trust not to let Chloe try to take over the committee." She grins. "If she had it her way, this dance would be Chloe-Bourgeois-themed."

Alya laughs. _"We definitely can't let that happen. Hey, I gotta talk to Nino for a sec, but I'll be over ASAP to pick up the decorations. Okay?"_

"Okay. Thanks, Alya. You're the best."

 _"_ _Anytime, girl!"_

The line clicks off. Marinette pulls the phone away from her ear and sighs. This has been, without a doubt, the worst possible week of her life to get sick.

Suddenly, there's a call from downstairs:

"Marinette! Your friend is here!"

Marinette looks at Tikki, bemused. "That was really fast. Alya must've already been on her way over when she called."

Tikki flies over to her usual hiding spot in the potted plant. "Don't let her stay too long — I'm hungry!"

Marinette is about to respond, but the trap door clicks open. She whirls away from Tikki to face the stairs.

"Hi, Aly….a?"

But it's not Alya's head that pops up through the opening in the floor — first there's a mess of blonde hair, and then green eyes, and —

"A-Adrien?" she squeaks.

He grins at her. Her heart skips a beat. He somehow looks even handsomer than usual, halfway up her staircase and staring at her like that.

"Hey, Marinette," he greets. "Can I come up?"

"S-Sure," she stutters.

She suddenly becomes acutely aware of the fact that she's wearing a tank top and shorts, with a pink bathrobe layered on top for warmth — and she's got paint on her face and glitter in her hair. Splendid.

But if Adrien notices, he doesn't say anything — he just hops up the rest of the staircase into her room and takes a look around.

"Wow," he breathes. "Did you make all of this?"

Marinette follows his gaze around the room. She has indeed been very productive while at home from school today: her usually-pink room has been transformed into a sea of midnight-blue curtains, sparkling sky backdrops with city skylines carefully painted on them, and dozens upon dozens of table centerpieces made from glittering paper, confetti, streamers, and fake flowers.

"Uh…yeah," she says, wringing her hands together. "It's nothing. My mom made me stay home from school, so I used the time to work on Winter Formal decorations."

"You made all of this _today?"_ he asks, amazed.

She just nods. Her cheeks are probably as pink as her bathrobe.

Adrien takes a step closer to her. He smiles. "You know, you're incredible, Marinette. Even when you're sick, you're still helping others and being creative."

She feels like she might burst. "Th-that's you sweet. Sweet of that. You're sweet." She groans, and then tries one more time: "That's really sweet of you. Thanks, Adrien."

Adrien doesn't respond. He's staring at her — kind of strangely, maybe like he doesn't want to stop staring. Her heart skips a beat.

"U-um, do you wanna sit?" she asks, taking a step away from him before she explodes or bursts into tears — she isn't really sure what's happening with her emotions at the moment, but she's sure the outcome wouldn't be cute. "I mean, everything's covered in glitter, but, uh…"

She walks over to the chaise and clears it of fabric and craft supplies. "Here," she says, gesturing to the free space.

Adrien walks over and sits on the chaise. Then, he pats the tiny space next to him.

"You look pale," he says, his voice soft with concern. "You should sit, too."

She's about to protest, but —

— with a sigh, she admits, "I _am_ kind of tired."

So she sits next to him. There's so little free space on the chair that their knees bump. She thinks she might melt into a puddle — or maybe it's the fever making a rude comeback.

"So," Adrien starts, leaning back into the chaise a little. "I came by to ask if you want to try coming over later tonight so we can talk to my father about your dress design."

The disappointment that follows his statement threatens to break her heart into a billion pieces.

"My mom won't let me leave the house," she says, slumping into herself like a folding chair. "I don't know if I'll be able to make it."

His face falls. "Oh."

A sad silence settles between them.

Marinette glances at the potted plant where Tikki usually hides. An idea occurs to her. She _knows_ she isn't supposed to use her powers as Ladybug except to protect Paris, but maybe, just this once, she could bend the rules — just a little.

She lets out a sigh, then, in a flash decision, blurts out, "You know what? I'll come. I'll just find a way to sneak out."

Adrien's eyes flash. "Are you sure?"

She nods. "Yeah."

"Is that a good idea?" he asks, eyeing her with one eyebrow raised. "What if your mom catches you?"

"She won't."

"And I don't want you to suddenly collapse from fatigue walking to my house."

She smiles. "I won't. I'm pretty strong."

He opens his mouth to protest, but his worried expression melts into a smile. He nudges her with his shoulder. "That I've noticed."

The blood rushes to her cheeks again, and she can't help a giggle. She's feeling less ill than the previous two days, but surprisingly enough she's managed to hold a steady conversation with Adrien for at least thirty seconds now. Tikki owes her a cookie.

"You know," Adrien starts, his tone teasing, "You've got a bit of a streak for trouble, Miss Dupain-Cheng. I wasn't expecting it."

She grins, ducking her head slightly from embarrassment but still holding his gaze through her eyelashes. "Well, dancing with your father is a dream." She shakes her head. "I mean, _working_ with your father and going to the dance with _you_ is a dream. My mom will understand, like, a year from now. I can't give it up just 'cause I've got a head cold."

Adrien puts a gentle hand on her back. Her heart swells.

"Just a head cold?" he asks, and the concern is back in his gaze again.

She manages a nod even though she kind of feels like she's going to melt like an ice cream cone in the summer sun. "Just a head cold. I'll be better by Friday."

He smiles. "Is that a promise?"

He holds out a pinky for her, and, in a rush of bravery, she clasps her pinky with his.

"Promise," she confirms, her voice smaller than she meant it to be.

Their pinkies stay entwined for a moment — and then another moment, and another. Adrien is looking at her, and she's looking at him, and for once in her life, she doesn't feel scared of her feelings for Adrien — for the first time since the umbrella incident, they make her feel _safe._

Without any time for her to process, Adrien's forehead is suddenly very close to hers. Her heart stutters in her chest like a broken machine's cogs splutter and twist. She holds her breath.

His eyes get so close that her gaze becomes cross-eyed. She wishes she could breathe. She blinks once, twice, and then closes her eyes, and then —

— and then, Adrien's phone rings.

She jumps away, nearly smacking his forehead in the process. He grabs his phone, quickly shutting off the alarm.

He frowns. Sighs. She wishes she could keep his eyes from turning so sad like that.

"I've gotta go," he says, putting his phone back in his pocket. "I have a photo shoot on the other side of town."

"O-Oh, right," she says, awkwardly trying to find something to do with her hands. She brushes some glitter off her knees.

He starts to get up. "But you'll come tonight? Around seven o'clock?"

She stands up with him, tugging her bathrobe tighter around her waist. "Yeah. Your house?"

"Uh-huh." He stands straight, now, staring at her again. "You have my number in case you get lost, right?"

She blushes — just the idea of calling him directly makes her heart pump faster. "Yeah, totally. I've got it on speed dial." She cringes. "Errr, like, I have all my friends on speed dial." Totally untrue. She has Alya and her mom and dad, and Adrien holds spot number 4 — not that she's ever used it before.

But Adrien just smiles at her. "Great." He pauses — touches her shoulder with a gentle pressure and winks. "You know, Princess, you can call me anytime, even when you're not lost."

Marinette blinks. Princess?

But before she has time to process it, his phone alarm goes off again. He checks it, and grins sheepishly.

"I really gotta go," he says, heading for the trap door. He turns toward her one last time. "See you in a few hours?"

She nods. "Yeah. I, uh. I'll see you in a few hours."

He scootches through the trap door and down to the little staircase. It clicks shut behind him.

Marinette stands at her chaise. The gears in her head are turning.

"Tikki," she breathes, feeling her kwami's presence beside her before she even turns to look. "Did he just…did we? What just? Did you hear all that? Did you _see_ all that?"

Tikki's mouth is dropped open, equally dumbfounded. The two stare at each other, and Marinette, though caught up in a whirlwind of emotions, is aware enough to come to three very important conclusions:

One, Adrien Agreste — _Adrien Agreste, her crush of two years —_ most definitely almost kissed her.

Two, there's only one person in the world who has ever called her Princess. And three —

— and three, this head cold must really be getting to her.

* * *

 _(Y'all I'm so sorry for the delay. Finals week happened and then I had to travel home and blah blah blah. I'll have the next chapter up as soon as I can, and thank you all for your kind reviews thus far. Bisous!)_


	8. Chapter 8

Plagg doesn't let him hear the end of it.

"You were gonna kiss her!"

"For the last time, Plagg, I wasn't," Adrien says, half-growling, as he tosses a ladybug-spotted hacky sack up and down.

"So you're telling me," Plagg starts, knocking the hacky sack out of the air so he can't catch it, "that you had your head all in her space like that to, what, tell her a secret? Ask if your breath smelled okay?"

Adrien throws his hands over his eyes and groans, sinking into his bedroom couch. "If I give you a wheel of camembert, will you stop?"

"I'm an ancient Chinese fairy who embodies the traits of a stereotypical French freeloader. If there's one thing that interests me more than cheese, it's ooey gooey romantic gossip."

Adrien scowls. "Well then you're gonna be unsatisfied, because there was nothing romantic about what happened between me and Marinette."

Plagg picks up the hacky sack and drops it on Adrien's knee. "Just admit it. You've been a mess all day. Now that you know Marinette has a crush on you, _you_ have a crush on _her."_

Adrien picks up the hacky sack, staring at the red-and-black design. He sighs.

"I'm in love with Ladybug, Plagg," he says, a little crestfallen. "You know that."

"Yeah, but you're in _like_ with Marinette," his kwami replies, crossing his arms.

Before Adrien can retort, there's a knock at the door.

Plagg hides in Adrien's shirt pocket. Adrien clears his throat.

"Come in," he says, but he doesn't get up from the couch.

Nathalie opens the door. She doesn't step inside. She just stands at the door, all coolness and absorbed in her tablet.

"Your father wishes to see you," she says.

Adrien's brow furrows. He already talked to his father today about the appointment with Marinette, which isn't until 7:00, and it's only 5:00. His father rarely calls on him twice in one day unless there's bad news.

He's scared to ask Nathalie why, so he just nods and drearily picks himself up off the couch. She steps away from the doorframe so that he can enter the hallway and head toward his father's office.

Nathalie's cool voice, however, interrupts him.

"He's in the tower."

Adrien freezes. Blinks. Turns halfway toward Nathalie.

He doesn't even try to keep the disbelief out of his voice when he asks, "My mother's sewing room?"

Nathalie nods. "It would seem so."

It's all he can do to keep his mouth from dropping to the floor. "Well, alright then."

His mother's sewing room is mostly separated from the rest of the house, in a tower that peeks above the third floor. To get there, he has to navigate a narrow spiral staircase that's hidden just beyond his own bedroom door. He's tried to go there in the past, without his father's permission, but the door to the staircase was always locked.

Now, when he pushes on the handle, it swings wide open.

He lets out a surprised breath. Slips into the passage. Closes the door behind him. Pauses before he starts to climb the stairs.

Plagg appears next to his ear, murmuring, "You've never mentioned a sewing room in the house."

"It's off limits. Father never lets me up here, not since my mother…" he trails off. "Well, I haven't been up here in years."

Plagg seems to understand the circumstances and slinks wordlessly back into his shirt pocket. Adrien looks out the little slotted windows as he climbs the remainder of the spiral stairwell. The windows overlook all of downtown Paris; from each window around the circumference of the tower it's possible to see a popular tourist landmark. His mother always loved to point them out to him when he was younger.

He pauses when he reaches the top of the stairs. He wonders if the room will be the same. He half-expects that he'll open the door and see his mother at her sewing machine, engrossed in her work, as always. She didn't have the same abilities as his father, but her heart was almost as dedicated to her sewing as her acting career.

He used to bring her lunch when she spent too long in the tiny room. She lost track of time easily. They would eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with cold _limonade_ while she told him about her projects, the places she and Gabriel would be traveling soon. He would listen with his whole heart. He loved her.

He shakes his head. Sighs. Knocks on the door.

It is, of course, not his mother's voice that answers, but his father's.

"Come in."

Adrien carefully opens the door. He is pleased — and surprised, though he doesn't know why — to see that the room remains almost exactly the same as it was when he last saw it: the walls are covered in family pictures, trinkets from when his mother traveled abroad, and scraps of fabric that she never wanted to give away or to use — just to keep.

A wave of warmth — comfort — passes over him. He's missed this room. He's happy to see it hasn't changed, but the dust on the shelves fills him with a bittersweetness he can't describe.

His father leaves him little time to marvel, however. "Adrien," he says, waving him over with his hand.

Adrien approaches a little cautiously, trying to get a look at what his father is working on, but his body blocks the mannequin on the other side of the room.

Gabriel turns and hands him something black and carefully folded. "Try this on. Over your t-shirt will suffice."

Adrien unfolds the article to realize it's a suit jacket. He's confused for a moment, and then he realizes it must be for the Winter Formal. And if he's meeting his father in the sewing room, that must mean —

"Father, did you make this yourself?" he asks.

Gabriel doesn't look at him. Just keeps working on the clothes that remain on the mannequin.

"I thought," he starts, any emotion in his voice carefully contained to the point where it's undetectable, "it would be fitting if I made the clothes myself. It is, after all, your first school dance — even if it is also a photoshoot."

Adrien looks at the suit jacket more carefully. The craftsmanship is, of course, impeccable. He doesn't know much about sewing, but he's worn enough of his father's designs to realize that this one has been given specific attention. It touches his heart in a way he isn't prepared for.

"Thank you, father," he begins, a lump in his throat, but —

"Yes, yes, now try it on."

"Oh, of course."

He slips his arms into the jacket, shrugging a bit so it falls properly on his shoulders. He buttons the first button as he knows he's supposed to, and leaves the second one undone.

His father turns from the mannequin and sweeps his gaze from Adrien's head to his waist. He stands there for a moment with one hand on his chin, and then reaches out and tugs on the lapels of the jacket. It doesn't budge much.

Then, he investigates the sleeves. Adrien knows they're too short, but he doesn't say anything. He's tried to speak up before, and it never goes well.

Gabriel hums thoughtfully. "The sleeves need to be let out, but the rest fits exceptionally." He glances at his son over the rim of his glasses. "You've already grown since I last measured you."

"Yeah, well, some high school testosterone will do that to you," he jokes. As usual, it doesn't draw even a half-smile from his father. He holds in a sigh.

When Gabriel turns to write something on a notepad, Adrien cranes his head to look at the mannequin. He nearly gasps from what he sees.

The mannequin dons Marinette's dress — and the three-dimensional product is even more beautiful than her sketch, which he didn't previously think possible. The overall concept is the same, but the fabric is now a stunning silver with blue accents instead of the midnight blue that he knows Marinette originally planned for. Still, he thinks she will love it.

He squints. In the light, he can tell the skirt is patterned, but he can't quite tell what the shiny embroidering is meant to be. At first he thinks it's just paisley, but as he leans forward to look —

"Peacock feathers?" he questions.

His father looks up from his notebook, his eyes a little narrowed. "The girl's design was satisfactory, for an amateur, but it lacked purpose. She gave me a skeleton, and I gave it a heart."

Adrien remembers Marinette's words from the first time he saw the design: _"The final draft still feels like it's missing something. Like a theme, or a purpose."_

"I think she'll love it," he says as his father unbuttons his suit.

He scowls. "Whether she likes it or not is of no consequence to me," he says. "She will come and try it on and I will make any necessary adjustments to sizing. Then she will wear it on Friday, have a short interview with my public representative, and the article will be published in our magazine this upcoming Monday."

Adrien sighs. He wishes his father would be just a _little_ more considerate of Marinette's feelings, but he knows it's too much to wish for. He supposes he ought to be grateful that he agreed to hold this meeting in the first place.

Gabriel takes the suit jacket. "I have more work to do before our meeting. Return to your room and wait for your friend to arrive. We will meet in my office."

"Not here?" Adrien asks.

Gabriel turns away. "No. Not here."

And for once, Adrien understands his father's coldness — he isn't sure if he's ready to invite anyone into his mother's sewing room yet, either. Not even Marinette.

* * *

"So you're telling me," Alya says, grabbing another bolt of fabric from Marinette's desk, "that Adrien's dad wants you to be in a photoshoot with Adrien on Friday, you're wearing the dress you designed, Adrien almost kissed you this afternoon, _and_ you've kept all of this a secret from me until now?"

Marinette grins sheepishly. "Yeah. I guess so."

It's 6:30 and Alya has finally arrived, as promised, to pick up the decorations for the Winter Formal. She was barely in Marinette's room for thirty seconds before Marinette finally blurted the past few days' events to her friend.

" _Girl,_ " Alya says. "And you're still feverish?"

Marinette shakes her head. "Not really. My mom just doesn't want me to relapse, so she won't let me see anyone." She doesn't mention that she's still planning to sneak out of the house pretty soon. It won't be the first secret that she's kept from her best friend, and certainly not the last, no matter how much she wishes things could be different.

Alya grabs both of her hands in hers. "I totally knew Adrien would fall for you one day. Girl, this is _so exciting!"_ She grins. "Imagine the double dates! It's gonna be so awesome!"

Marinette sighs. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I could've been totally making things up in my head."

"I don't think so," she says, squeezing Marinette's hands. "I wasn't gonna tell you, but Nino told me that he and Adrien talked at school today, and I guess Adrien knows that you have a crush on him."

The color completely drains from Marinette's face.

"Wh-What?"

Alya backtracks. "That's not a bad thing, though, right? Obviously he must like you back, 'cause when he found out that you liked him, he got close to kissing you this afternoon!"

Alya's logic may be sound, but the sudden feeling of betrayal that stabs Marinette's heart makes it hard for her to listen. Tikki's premonition from this morning has turned out to be correct: Chat told Adrien about her crush on him.

An unexpected lump forms in her throat. She trusts Chat Noir more than anyone in all of Paris. Why would he betray her like this? Of course, he doesn't know that she's _her,_ as in Ladybug, but still — she really thought he would keep his promise.

Suddenly Marinette's mother calls from the first floor. "Marinette! I think it's time for you to get some rest!"

Marinette sighs. That's definitely code for "it's time for Alya to leave."

Alya must pick up on the double meaning, too, because she gets up from Marinette's chaise and finishes stuffing the rest of the winter formal decorations into her backpack. "Listen, why don't you get some rest and then call me so we can talk this through?"

"Sounds good," Marinette replies, but her brain is already way far away from Alya.

Alya slings her backpack over her shoulders and looks at Marinette closely, no doubt trying to pull her back into reality. "Listen, girl. Don't sweat the Adrien thing. Okay?" She smiles, and adds teasingly, "You're probably way overthinking things, as usual."

Marinette waves a hand. "I'm not worried. Really." She pauses, and then it just slips out: "Oh, I almost forgot! Here's a scoop for your Ladyblog: Chat Noir is crazy ticklish."

Alya's eyes widen. " _No way!_ How did you find out?"

"I bumped into him during the akuma attack yesterday," she lies. "He was carrying me away from a fight and I accidentally tickled him when he set me down."

"Adorable," Alya gushes. She whips out her phone before heading toward the trap door. "Thanks, girl — you're the best. I'm updating the Ladyblog as we speak."

Marinette smiles. "I see that." She waves a little weakly from the chaise. "See you later, Alya."

"See ya! Thanks again for the decorations!"

After the door shuts, Marinette flops backwards onto the chaise and lets out a huge groan.

"I can't believe Chat Noir told Adrien I like him," she whimpers.

Tikki moseys out of her plant hiding-spot and perches on the side of the chaise. Her eyes are clouded. "Maybe Chat Noir, um, didn't tell Adrien? Maybe he just found out somehow?"

She covers her eyes with her hands. "Maybe. I don't know. It'd be so coincidental, though." Another groan. "My life is over! I'm moving to China to live with my uncle."

Tikki giggles, and Marinette lowers her hands from her eyes to shoot Tikki a look.

"Sorry," Tikki says, after a tiny throat clear. She straightens up. "I didn't mean to laugh. It's actually horrible."

"You're right," Marinette says. She glances out the window. The sun is setting. "And now I've gotta go to this meeting with Adrien's dad. What am I gonna say to him?"

Tikki shrugs. "Just act natural."

Marinette scoffs. "Yeah, because I haven't tried _that_ before." She sits up again, resting her elbows on her knees. "I'm just gonna tell Adrien that I'm only going with him to Winter Formal because I'm happy to work with his father, and I don't think it's a date or anything. That should clear things up."

Tikki's eyes widen. "But Marinette! You've been in love with Adrien for two _years_ now. Isn't this what you want?"

"No. Yes? I don't know." She looks at the floor. "It feels…wrong."

She thinks about Adrien and her heart soars — but then she thinks about Chat Noir, and how he may have told Adrien her secret, and her heart breaks. It's even more painful when she remembers last night, and how at ease she felt telling Chat her secret, laughing with him on her bed —

 _"_ _You know you're way prettier than Adrien._ You _ought to be the model."_

Her heart warms at the memory, and she smiles when she remembers the way he ruffled her hair, and —

— and then she abruptly _breaks,_ her smile dropping into a frown and her brow furrowing. She's so _hurt._ Why is she so hurt? And yet why does the memory of Chat's visit simultaneously put her so much at ease?

And Marinette is _not_ oblivious to her feelings, nor is she unaware, so the realization doesn't surprise her so much as it peacefully emerges in her conscious thought, like a pot of water coming to boil.

 _"_ _Oh,"_ she breathes. Her entire body stills, frozen.

Tikki flies right next to her shoulder. "Marinette? Are you alright?"

"I have feelings for Chat Noir."

The confession comes out clearer, more imbued with confidence than she expected it to be given how her heart is thudding in her chest.

Tikki crosses her arms over her chest but is somehow still wearing her tiny fairy smile. "Well, _that_ definitely complicates things, doesn't it?"

"I'm a mess. _I'm a mess."_ She runs her hands through her hair. The ties of her pigtails are coming loose after working in her room on the decorations all day. She looks up at her kwami with wide eyes. "Tikki, I am _so sorry._ I can't believe I let this happen. I should've had more control over my feelings. I hope you can forgive me —"

" _Relax,_ Marinette _._ " She reassuringly snuggles up to Marinette's cheek. Then, pulling away so she can make eye contact, she continues, "I'll let you in on a little secret. I've been in this business for a thousand years, and in that time I've lost track of how many times Ladybug and Chat Noir end up together, or one of them has feelings for the other."

Marinette tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "R-Really?"

Tikki nods. "Really. You two are complementary kindred spirits — yin and yang. It's made to work like that so that you can be the best team possible."

"Oh." She lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "But I thought you said it was wrong for me to get too close to Chat Noir?"

"Not wrong!" Tikki waves her tiny arms defensively. "Just…ill-advised. If you were to become close enough to discover each other's identities, you'd be putting each other, and Paris, in grave danger. If Hawkmoth were to capture either of you and you accidentally reveal the truth…"

Tikki trails off, but Marinette can finish her thought well enough on her own. She swallows.

"It'd be over," Marinette says. "I know." She leans back against her chaise, feeling lost. "For being the 'lucky' side of the duo, I sure do have a bad track record when it comes to love. I mean, the boy I've liked for two years finally seems like he might like me back, but I've realized in the same day that I also have feelings for my best friend — and I don't even know who he really is."

Tikki sits down next to her on the chaise. She opens her mouth. Closes it again. Looks like she wants to say something more, but she can't.

So Marinette sighs, and changes the topic. "I know you're gonna disprove, Tikki, but I was really hoping I could use Ladybug to make it to Adrien's house for our meeting."

Tikki frowns — then sighs. "Normally I'd say no, but you've had a bit of a week. I'll make an exception just this once."

Her spirits brighten at that — just a little. "Thanks, Tikki. You're the best."

As Tikki accepts a bop on the head from Marinette, she says, "Just this once." A pause, and then, "And Marinette?"

"Yeah?"

"Try to keep your head up." Her kwami's eyes are twinkling with mischief. "Once Hawkmoth is defeated, things won't be nearly as complicated. You'll see."

This comforts her for a moment, but then she frowns.

"But how long until then, Tikki? And when it's all over, who will I be without Ladybug?"

"You're Ladybug with or without the costume. Believe that, and I doubt Hawkmoth will be a problem for too much longer."

* * *

As much as Alya is sad when Marinette cancels plans, her now-free Wednesday night gives her a much-needed opportunity to spend time with Nino.

Their relationship is almost _too_ easy — Alya has always assumed that she would stay single until her career in journalism was well-established and she could afford to pay for her own dinner dates without blinking an eyelash. In the past, she's had a heart time imagining her future beau because she'd never met anyone who appreciated her ambition and passion, but wasn't intimidated by it.

And now here is Nino, who easily reaches both benchmarks and then some. Finding a high school sweetheart was never in her life plans — not that she can say she minds, of course.

They're snuggled up in front of the fireplace at a local café. It's later in the evening and a Wednesday, which means that the place is basically deserted, so Alya doesn't feel bad about the PDA. She wouldn't give a rip except that sometimes people recognize her from the Ladyblog, and sucking her boyfriend's face in public doesn't exactly produce the professional budding-journalist vibe she's going for.

"So did you get the decorations for the dance from Marinette?" Nino asks, rousing her from her thoughts.

She's midway through a sip of her coffee, so she swallows and replies, "Yeah, I managed to do that much before her mom sent me away." She sets her drink down on the table, suddenly remembering their conversation. " _Actually,_ there's something important we need to talk about."

Nino stares at her, his eyes the same warm shade of chestnut as her cappuccino. "You know I'm always down to talk important things with you, Al. What's up?"

Alya wedges herself deeper between his arm and the couch, reveling in how comfortable she is. It was a long day dealing with Chloe and the winter formal preparations. She could handle the weight of the world by herself, of course, but being in the crook of Nino's arm makes everything ten times easier.

"I know you asked me not to, and I'm sorry, but I told Marinette about your conversation with Adrien."

Nino's gaze darkens ever so slightly. "Oh jeez. How'd that go?"

"Well, I only told her in the first place because _apparently,_ " she pauses to take a sip of coffee for dramatic effect, "Adrien visited her this afternoon — and he almost kissed her."

Nino stares at her in disbelief. "You're kidding?" He moves his gaze to the fireplace. "Weird. I gotta be honest, earlier today it sounded like he was worried about leading her on, so that seems kinda out of nowhere."

Alya nods. "There's something weird going on. Even when I told Marinette, she didn't seem to thrilled about the prospect of him liking her."

They're silent for a few moments, each lost in thought.

Then, an idea hits her, plain as day.

"Nino," she starts, "you know how in _Much Ado About Nothing,_ Benedick and Beatrice's friends set up a little trap so that they'll each fall for each other?"

Nino grins. "Gonna be honest with ya, Al, I only looked up summaries online for that. Didn't actually read it."

"Okay, but, like, do you know _vaguely_ what I'm getting at?"

"I think so."

Alya smiles coyly. "Well, seems like we might have our own Benedick and Beatrice on our hands."

Nino looks at her, his lovely brown eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiles.

"You're saying you and I should set up a little conversation to push them along?"

"Oh, not just a conversation," Alya counters. "An intervention. An attack plan. Hook, line, and sinker."

She reaches for her backpack to pull out a little writing notebook and a ballpoint pen. Nino crosses his legs and leans back into the couch, content to sit and watch his girlfriend thrive in her element. Looks like he was going to have a bit more on his hands at Winter Formal than just being the resident DJ.

* * *

Adrien checks his watch for the tenth time in two minutes: 6:59.

He sighs. Pulls out his phone. Unlocks it and stares at Marinette's contact information.

"Relax, kid," Plagg says. He's slumped next to him on the couch, munching on a piece of camembert. "She'll be here any minute."

Adrien runs his hands through his hair. "I'm just worried. She's been so sick this week, you know? It's a long walk from my house to hers."

"So she'll take the metro. Big deal."

"I hope she isn't late. My father is so picky about that kind of thing."

Plagg throws his cheese into the air and then catches it in his mouth, swallowing it whole.

"Your father can stuff his pickiness up my —"

There's a knock at Adrien's door.

"Adrien? Your friend has arrived."

He sighs in relief and checks his watch: 7:00. Right on time.

Since he's replaced his day-outfit with a white dress shirt and slacks for the fitting, Plagg hides in his pants pocket. Adrien rushes to the door and is met by Nathalie, who nods toward the entry foyer of the house.

He half-walks, half-rushes to the staircase, but halts at the very top. Marinette is in the middle of hanging her pink winter trench coat up on the wall rack. He can't help the sigh of relief that catches in his chest — he's glad that she made it here safely.

"You made it," he greets, starting his descent down the stairs.

She turns away from the coat rack toward him, donning a small smile. "Of course I did."

He notices that she's exchanged her pink bathrobe from earlier in the day for a dressier sweater and dark-wash jeans. The outfit is simple but sleek; he can't help the rush of proudness he feels, knowing that, even if he would never say it, his father will appreciate her professionalism.

That's when he notices her entire body is trembling.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asks quietly so Nathalie can't hear. He holds her at arm's length. "You're shaking. You're not nervous, are you?"

She glances at where his hand rests on her shoulder, then back up at him. "I-I'm fine." Gently, she pulls away. "Just a little cold, that's all."

He ignores the confusing pang in his chest when she pulls away from him, instead moving closer to the coat rack. "Here, take this. It'll warm you up a little, and it goes with your outfit."

He takes the aqua-colored scarf that his father (or perhaps Marinette?) got him for his birthday and wraps it carefully around her neck.

She stares at the scarf for a moment, toying with the frayed ends with her fingers.

"You…still have this?" she asks, quietly.

Adrien nods. "Of course. It was a birthday gift, from…from someone I really care about."

Marinette's eyes widen in surprise. Her gaze snaps up to meet his, and she opens her mouth to say something —

— but Nathalie cuts them off.

"Adrien," she says. "Your father is waiting in his study."

Adrien nods at her. "Thank you, Nathalie." He turns to Marinette. "That's our cue."

As they start toward the staircase, he says in a low voice, "Listen, Marinette. My father can be…standoffish."

She nods. "I'm aware." When he looks surprised, she adds, "We've interacted once or twice, and Nino has told me some stories."

He grimaces, gripping the banister a little tighter. "Yeah. Well, just, don't take anything he might say to heart, okay?" He pauses briefly, then, almost as an afterthought, adds, "Unless he says anything nice. Then you should consider it the greatest compliment you'll ever get."

Marinette giggles, and this puts Adrien a little more at ease. Despite his father's coldness and his…other various faults, Adrien loves him. He hopes that, of all of his friends, Marinette might be able to see the good in Gabriel Agreste. Adrien knows it's in there somewhere.

They reach his father's office. Adrien takes in a breath. Looks at Marinette.

"Ready?"

She smiles. "I am. Are you?"

Standing there, with her shoulders back and her sternum raised, bright blue eyes looking up at him, feet grounded and head raised high —

— his heart stutters in his chest. She looks like —

— he shakes his head. Knocks on the door. Time to go.


	9. Chapter 9

Marinette expects Gabriel Agreste's office to look a little like all the other desks of creative minds she's seen: unorganized, messy, colorful. Instead, when she and Adrien enter the office — which really ought to be called an atrium, not an office — she is met with an almost empty room.

Well, empty, except for herself, Adrien (who looks like Prince Charming in his dress clothes), and Gabriel Agreste, her idol, who sits at a sleek silver desk drawing on his tablet with a stylus.

Adrien's hand is on the small of her back. She appreciates the comforting gesture because, as much as she might try to feign confidence, seeing Gabriel Agreste in the flesh and not over a video call has effectively turned her legs into jelly.

Without looking up from his tablet, he says, "Come in."

She and Adrien step into the center of the room. They're in the light now; there's nothing she can do but wait. She tugs Adrien's turquoise scarf — the very one she made — tighter around her neck. Her nose catches a whiff of a very familiar scent — _Adrien,_ the fragrance.

The scarf smells like him. He must wear it a lot. The realization is almost as comforting to her as his hand, which still rests on her back.

Gabriel sighs. Puts down his tablet. He grabs what looks like a remote control from the side of his desk and punches in a code.

A moment later, a few wall segments on the east side of the room start to slide toward the floor. The noise almost makes Marinette jump, but she manages to squeeze her surprise into a tiny little squeak.

Adrien looks down at her, wearing a lopsided grin.

"Scared of walls?" he teases quietly.

She scowls at him, albeit equally playfully. "At my house, the walls don't _move_."

He nudges her shoulder. "What, you mean your dad doesn't have a secret hole in the wall where he keeps his most fabulous cakes?"

Marinette smiles. "No, he doesn't — unless you count the window display."

Adrien looks like he's got another joke up his sleeve, but the walls come to a sudden halt, revealing what Marinette can only assume is the physical version of the dress she designed.

And _oh,_ what a dress it is. She steps away from Adrien, unable to help her curiosity. Her design has been followed almost to a T — the only apparent differences she notices are the length, which reaches the floor instead of just her knees as she originally planned, and the color: silver, with a very subtle, aqua-colored peacock feather pattern threaded into the fabric.

"Wow," she breathes as Adrien joins her to stand in front of the design.

"Do you like it?" he asks under his breath, so Gabriel can't hear even as he approaches them from his desk.

Marinette squints at the dress. She _does_ like it — in fact, she _loves_ the fabric and the purpose that Gabriel has given the dress, but —

"The skirt," she mumbles, approaching the dress. She reaches out a hand to graze the fabric, and then thinks better of it, turning to Gabriel to ask permission. "May I?"

He observes her over the rim of his glasses. There's a split second where she thinks that she's overstepped a boundary, but then he gives her a curt nod.

So she extends a hand to touch the fabric. It's silky and smooth, and the skirt is a wonderful length. But still…

She glances from Adrien to Gabriel, both of whom are watching her carefully: Adrien with warmth in his eyes, Gabriel with a gaze of cool calculation.

Tikki would tell her to go for it. So, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach, she does.

She looks at Gabriel directly, her hand not leaving the skirt. "The dress. It's beautiful, and I love what you've done." She lets go of the fabric and stands straight as she can. "What if instead of the ballgown skirt, we made it a high-low cut? With a few pleats? It, uh…it might be more reminiscent of a real peacock tail in that way, which is the direction I assume we're going now."

She doesn't break eye contact with Gabriel once the last words are out of her mouth. She knows she's taking a risk, but she doesn't care. It's _her_ design, after all, and she imagines that the more credit she can take for it, the better it will look for Gabriel's publicity.

A rainbow of incredibly subtle emotions passes over Gabriel's features. She watches the flash in his eyes (surprise), the twitch of his mouth (anger, perhaps), the straightening of his back as he actually considers her proposition, and, finally, a gradual smoothing of his brow.

He takes a few steps toward her. She tenses up. Waits. She can't bear to look at Adrien.

But the verbal smack doesn't come. Instead, Gabriel just hums.

He lifts his tablet and starts to draw with the stylus. She realizes, suddenly, that he's had a digital rendering of the design open on the device the entire time. Quickly, and with a precision that she sometimes sees when her father is knee-deep in icing a last-minute wedding cake, he sketches over the design so it has a high-low skirt and a few roughly-drawn pleats.

He regards the design for a moment. Then, with almost no emotion, he says, "We will supply you with a pair of nude stockings. Do not wear your own."

She can barely hide her smile. "Oh! Um, yes, sir."

As she looks again at the dress, she's filled with another few ideas — but she doesn't dare say them aloud. Judging by the blatant shock painted on Adrien's features, this sort of thing doesn't happen a lot, and she doesn't want to push her luck by offering another suggestion.

Gabriel takes a step toward the dress, however, and hums thoughtfully again.

"It interests me," he begins, his voice still that cold, firm timbre, "what you might do with the neckline to complement your proposed high-low skirt."

Her heart leaps in her chest. Her idol is asking her how she would tackle a fashion problem! If circumstances were different, she'd ask Adrien to come over and pinch her so she could be sure she isn't dreaming.

Instead, she takes a step closer to the dress and gestures to the neckline. "The sweetheart works for my original design, but the direction this is going is much more elegant." She traces a line on the dress with her pointer finger as she speaks. "I think I'd go with a portrait collar. A gentle V, not too much below the collar bone, like, here. Something that's a little higher in the back, just for that added elegance." She knows she shouldn't, that she's pushing her luck, but she adds anyway, "And then I'd complement _that_ with angel sleeves, or maybe trumpet sleeves. Somewhere between those two, so that the sleeves drape down a little when the elbows are bent."

Gabriel doesn't even look at her. She's not even sure if he listened to what she said. He just draws on his tablet, and she doesn't dare try to peek at what he's doing.

She braves a look over her shoulder at Adrien. He's pale, and he looks worried — but there's also a touch of disbelief in his features, and when they make eye contact he smiles helplessly at her. Her stomach turns for what's got to be the seventh time in the past two minutes. She feels a little dizzy. Nauseous, too — almost like she did the other day before she fell off the balcony, but —

Gabriel clears his throat. She stiffens, turning away from Adrien until she's face-to-face with him again.

He's holding the tablet so she can see. "Like so?"

Her mouth drops open into a tiny "o" — and then she realizes that's probably neither flattering nor professional, so she closes it again.

"Um, yes," she says, breathless with awe. _Now_ the design has some real meat to it. "Just like that."

Gabriel takes the tablet back so she can't see the screen again. "I will… _consider_ these alterations."

"Of course, Mr. Agreste." She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I, um, really don't mind one way or the other. I'm just doing this because Adrien asked me to."

Gabriel doesn't look at her, but his next words are laced with a hidden meaning: "Is that so?"

The blush on her cheeks is immediate. "Um, I mean, I would dance the design if you asked him to. I mean —" She resists the urge to slump in defeat. Stutter count: 1. Marinette: 0.

"I think what Marinette means to say," Adrien says, jumping to her rescue, "is that she's happy for the opportunity. It's just a coincidence that she had such an amazing dress design, since I was gonna ask her to go with me either way."

She blinks. Dumfounded. "You…you were?"

Before Adrien can respond, however, Gabriel cuts in with a tone like oil: "How very heartwarming. Now, back to the matter at hand."

Marinette swallows and abruptly straightens her back. "Of course. Sorry."

Gabriel turns and begins to remove the dress from the mannequin. "Regardless of whether or not the alterations are made, you must try on the dress for sizing purposes."

He folds the garment extremely carefully and then hands it to Marinette, along with a beautiful pair of shoes previously hidden under the skirt. "Do be careful. Those shoes alone are likely worth more than your entire closet." He looks toward Adrien. "Son, show her to your room so she can change. And you'll need to loan her a pair of shorts so I can assess her legs before I decide on the hem alterations."

Adrien nods like a soldier to a general. "Yes, father."

Marinette feels frozen in place for some reason, so she's grateful when Adrien guides her back toward the exit of the room with his hand hovering near her shoulder.

When they're out of earshot, Adrien says, "Sorry about the whole…wanting to see your legs thing." He sighs. "You'll be representing the Agreste brand, after all, and my father is really picky. But it should be fine."

Marinette shakes her head, attempting to clear it of all the thoughts buzzing in her mind. Her stomach _churns._ "Uh, no, it's totally fine, I get it." She tries for a tiny smile. "We can't all have natural model looks like you."

He bumps into her with his shoulder — she isn't sure whether it's purposeful or not. She's not sure she _wants_ to know, since it would probably only increase the butterflies in her tummy.

They start climbing up the stairs toward Adrien's room. She wishes she didn't feel so nauseous. She _really_ hopes her sickness isn't making a comeback — she's not exactly keen on throwing up in front of Adrien again.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better," Adrien says, pulling her from her anxiety, "my father wouldn't even have considered letting you premiere your design if I hadn't vouched for how pretty you are." He stops at the top of the stairs, waiting for her to catch up a step.

Then, staring straight into her eyes, he adds good-naturedly, "Maybe _you_ ought to be the model."

 _"_ _You know, you're way prettier than Adrien. You ought to be the model."_

All of the air in her lungs escapes in an inaudible gasp. She feels incredibly light-headed — and she really can't tell if it's her sickness or her emotions. Perhaps both.

"I…" she trails off, grabbing the banister tightly. "Where's…where's your bathroom?"

Adrien's face falls. "Oh no. Not feeling good again?"

She nods — she needs some air, and quick.

He grabs her hand. "Come on, it's just through here."

They tread a few paces down the hall and then he opens a door. It leads to a tiny hallway that she remembers from when she came here as Ladybug — and then that door opens up into Adrien's bedroom.

In her dizzied state, she's surprised how much she remembers the layout of his room. Everything is still huge, but —

"That's new," she comments, pointing toward a large Jagged Stone poster above his bed.

"I got it a few weeks ago," he replies — then he halts for a moment in the middle of the room. "Wait, how did you —"

"Bathroom," is all she says, and then she's fast-walking across the room to get to her destination.

"Oh, right," she hears him say behind her.

But her brain is long-gone from Adrien — she's _definitely_ about to throw up.

She enters the bathroom and slams the door shut, not even feeling slightly bad about shutting him out of his own water closet.

"Are you alright?" he calls through the door.

"I'll be fine," she says, unable to get her voice close to his volume. Hopefully he can still hear. "Just need a minute."

"Marinette?"

She resists a groan. "Yes?"

There's a little thump on the door, as if he's leaning against it. His voice sounds different when he speaks again.

"What you did just now, with my father? That was amazing." A pause, then: "You're braver than I'll ever be."

And oh, how she _wishes_ her stomach would allow this to be a sweet moment, but she's going to pass out if she doesn't get to the toilet within the next few seconds, thus explaining her garbled response:

"Amazing with the toilet everyday? You're the brave one."

She's too dizzy to hear him laughing on the other side of the door.

* * *

For a few moments after Marinette shuts the bathroom door, Adrien tries to scrounge up a pair of his own shorts for her to wear. But the sound of her retching becomes too heartbreaking, and he feels he ought to give her some privacy. So he shuts his dresser drawer and tiptoes out of the room so as not to alert her. He has another idea about where he might find her a pair of shorts.

As he traverses down the hallway, he suddenly remembers her comment about his Jagged Stone poster being "new." He doesn't remember her ever coming to his room before. How could she have known that the poster was new?

He shakes his head. It must be that she got in there during his birthday party (the one that went totally wrong), or maybe she's seen it in pictures from Nino.

When he reaches the door of his parents' room, he knocks lightly — not because he expects anyone to reply, but because he usually isn't supposed to go in there. After hearing no response, he turns the knob and opens the door.

The room is pristine; barren of any personal trinkets or photographs. Unlike the sewing room, he's been in here a few times since his mother left, but only in extreme circumstances. It used to be a a lot more welcoming.

He moves over to his mother's dresser and opens every drawer until he finds where her pants and shorts hide, still folded perfectly — as if she still lives in the house. They don't smell _too_ musty, so he pulls out the first nondescript looking pair he finds and then shuts the drawer again.

He holds up the shorts to the light coming from the hallway. They'll definitely fit Marinette. She and his mother actually seem to be pretty close in size — Emilie was always petite, even before she —

Footsteps in the hallway. Adrien rushes out of the room and closes the door as quickly as he can. The _click-clack_ of high heels tells him that the source is Nathalie; she's coming from the dining room to her chambers upstairs. He lets out a sigh of relief — he can make it back to his bedroom without being detected.

Still, he stuffs the shorts under his arm to hide them. No need to take chances.

When he gets back to his room, he can no longer hear Marinette throwing up in the bathroom. In fact, he can't hear her in the bathroom at all.

He tiptoes toward the door. "Marinette?" he asks. "You okay?"

No sound at first, and then from the opposite side of the door:

"Uh, yeah. I'm good. Sorry 'bout that."

He smiles. "It's really not a problem. Do you need some aspirin or anything?"

"No, I'm actually feeling much better!" Her tone is unbelievably chipper given how she sounded just two minutes ago. "Actually, I, um, could use some help with the dress. And the shoes."

"That was quick. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm peachy!"

"Oh, and I got you a pair of shorts. Should I open the door, or…?"

The door clicks open, answering his question. Marinette pokes her head out.

Her face is pale, her cheeks stained with mascara, her eyes red and puffy from tears.

"Oh, Mari," he says, his voice dropping. "Your mom was right to make you stay home. I shouldn't have asked you to come."

She sniffles. "No, it's really okay. Like, I know I _look_ awful, but I really do feel a lot better now than I did two minutes ago."

He holds out the pair of shorts for her.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asks, looking at her sadly.

But she just giggles. "Well, first, stop giving me those eyes, or I'll start calling you _mon minou._ And second," she takes the shorts from him, "do you have any makeup wipes?"

He grins. "I do, actually. Modeling perks." He points past her into the bathroom. "Top drawer on the left."

"Great. I'll be out in a sec. Just let me put on these shorts and fix my face."

The door shuts again. Adrien knows he's smiling like an idiot, but he can't seem to stop.

Plagg peaks out of his pants pocket and winks suggestively. Adrien puts a finger against his lips and tries to shoo him away.

"One wheel of camembert that you kiss her," Plagg whispers.

"One wheel of camembert that you _shut up,_ " Adrien hisses back.

From behind the bathroom door, Marinette calls, "What did you say?"

"Er, nothing! Just talking to myself."

Thankfully, Plagg retreats back to his pocket just as the bathroom door opens.

Marinette steps out fully from the bathroom, and —

— and even with an unzipped dress and bare feet, she's _beautiful._

"Wow," he breathes, unable to come up with anything more eloquent.

"I know," she says, staring down at the dress. He knows by her tone of voice that she thinks he's commenting on the dress. He isn't.

"Your father really outdid himself," she goes on, lifting the skirt ever so slightly in both hands. "It's beautiful. I never would've imagined…" she trails off in wonder.

He takes a step toward her. "May I?"

Her big blue eyes stare up at him lazily. "Of course." A flash of surprise. "I mean, what? May you what?"

He smiles. "Zip up the back."

"Oh. Right. Um, yes, please."

She turns so that he has access to the zipper. He's done this for fellow female model friends plenty of times — so why does he feel a blush rising in his cheeks?

The zipper goes up without any catches, but he holds his breath until it reaches the base of her neck.

"Could you help me with the shoes, too?" she asks, turning around to face him again. Her cheeks are pink, but he notices that for once she isn't stuttering. "I think they'll fit, but I can't even reach my feet because the bodice is so fitted."

He chuckles. "Of course, Princess _."_ He gestures toward the edge of his bed. "Here, sit."

And so, with all the magic of a fairy tale, he daintily slides the glass-like shoes onto her feet — first her left, and then her right. When he lifts her right foot, however, she winces.

He looks up. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just ticklish."

He finishes putting on the shoe and then stands up. He suddenly remembers last night, when he was disguised as Chat Noir and tickled her mercilessly. He has to pretend he doesn't know —

" _Are_ you?" He grins, leaning toward her.

"No, no, _don't!"_

She seems serious even though she's giggling, so he backs off immediately, not wanting to dismiss her wishes.

But now their faces are only inches apart, and just like that, the tension between them becomes palpable. His hands are on the side of the bed, straddling her shoulders, and her big blue eyes stare straight into his own. The breath rushes out of his chest from one heartbeat to the next. His throat runs dry.

He wants to kiss her. He doesn't know why, but the longing is visceral and fills his chest to bursting.

He remembers his conflict from earlier in the day — of whether to spare Marinette's feelings or help her toward her goals — and suddenly realizes that, given the fact that his heart is currently pumping at light-speed, maybe he hasn't been leading her on as much as he thought.

Maybe Nino is right. Maybe Ladybug has blinded him.

Maybe he needs to let go?

He takes a deep breath. Steels himself. It would be kinder, he thinks, not to kiss her now. Not when he's still confused. But nothing makes a brain less likely to obey a rational thought than a heart that's in love.

Slowly, he raises a hand to cup her cheek. Some of the mascara on her cheek is still wet; he tenderly wipes it away with his thumb.

But her eyes _tear_ away from his, breaking contact. He notices a flash of —

— guilt?

"Listen, Adrien," she says, her voice quieter than he's ever heard it. "There's something I have to tell you —"

Someone clears their throat in the doorway.

They leap apart. Adrien whips around to find Nathalie standing at the door. For once, she is _not_ engrossed in her tablet. In fact, she looks _very much_ like she is engrossed in the scene unfolding before her.

Adrien internally groans. Other than his father, Nathalie is the last person on earth he would want to witness his first almost-kiss.

"Your father is waiting for you," she says, her voice smooth other than the slight tremble on the first word. "He wishes to know why you are delayed."

"We had a hard time getting the shoes on," he says quickly. "We can come down now."

Nathalie stares at him peculiarly. "That would be best."

He expects her to leave. She does not — she just stands at the door, waiting.

He sighs. Digs one foot into the floor, and then turns to Marinette.

Quietly, he says to her, "We should go. We can talk later?"

She nods — but her face is pale.

"Um, yeah. Later is fine."

Despite the awkwardness, he tries a smile.

"Let's go show my father how much better this dress looks on you than the mannequin."

* * *

Marinette's dress, unfortunately, has no pockets.

But Tikki is content to hide in Adrien's bathroom with Marinette's clothes and her little purse — for now. After all, she figures that Marinette probably won't absolutely need to transform anytime soon, and she's keen on investigating Adrien's shower. It's so much _bigger_ than the one at the Dupain-Cheng bakery —

— this is her plan, of course, until she hears a familiar voice behind her.

"So…how's it going?"

Tikki whips around. Plagg is floating in front of her, his paws rather awkwardly wringing together in front of his belly.

"Plagg!" she cries, closing the distance between them to steal a hug. And it is indeed a theft, because Plagg wriggles out of her grasp after a mere second.

"Hey, Tikki," he says, brushing himself off.

"We really shouldn't be out like this."

"Well, you started it."

She crosses her little arms. "Well…maybe, but still." She brightens a little. "If we're going to fracture the bone, we might as well break it. How are you? Are you okay? Does he feed you enough camembert?"

"Oh, plenty," Plagg replies. "The kid's great. One of my favorites, if I'm being honest."

She smiles. "Marinette is one of mine, too—"

"— but Tikki, listen," he cuts her off, "there's something you gotta know."

Her face falls. For the first time in this secret meeting, she looks at him — really _looks,_ instead of just seeing. He won't meet her gaze — he's staring at the floor — his paws won't stop fidgeting, and his tail keeps flicking in different directions.

"Oh," Tikki breathes, surprised. Plagg isn't one to be so visibly distressed. "What's the matter?"

"It's the kid. Adrien." He swallows. "He's got it bad for Ladybug, which I knew, but…" he trails off. Then, after a deep breath, he adds, "I think he's starting to fall for Marinette, too."

Tikki's stomach churns. Part of her is elated — finally, _finally,_ Adrien is seeing how wonderful _all_ of Marinette is, not just the Ladybug parts — but another part of her knows the harsh truth.

"You know, it's funny," she says, her voice little more than a sigh, "Mari told me today she has feelings for Chat Noir."

Plagg's eyes flash. From excitement or guilt, she can't tell. "Really?"

"Really."

A silence stretches between them. Tikki has a feeling she knows where this conversation is headed, and she isn't too keen on having this particular discussion.

But despite her unspoken wishes, Plagg says, "I don't understand why we can't just —"

"You _do_ understand," she cuts in, a little miffed. "It's the same reason every time. If Mari and Adrien know each others' identities, they put each other in danger."

"This time is different," Plagg objects.

"You say that every time," she retorts.

"Yeah, but this time I mean it." He ducks his head, his tone losing a little of its edge as he continues, "Adrien _loves_ her."

Tikki crosses her arms. "I know. And since he loves her, he'd want to do everything in his power to protect her." She pauses to cross her arms, then adds, "Including keeping their identities a secret. You just have to explain that to him."

Plagg shakes his head. "It just doesn't seem right."

"When has it ever felt right? They _always_ fall for each other."

"Yeah, but this time —"

"Plagg, there's nothing we can —"

"Ti, just _listen!:_

Her mouth gapes open. Plagg _never_ raises his voice like that. She shuts her mouth, then opens it, then closes it again. Speechless.

"We've never had to deal with… _dating,_ before," he explains.

His meaning escapes her. "Dating?"

He nods. "If Marinette and Adrien get any closer, they might date. And their secret identities will always be a point of contention, right? How can you date someone when you don't know where they're disappearing off to every time an akuma appears?"

"Yeah, but they would _both_ be disappearing, so I don't see how it could be —"

"And what's _more,"_ he continues, cutting her off, "is that you _know_ Marinette would still be torn up over Chat Noir, and Adrien would still be torn up over Ladybug, which would cause all sorts of problems that could lead to them breaking up — and _then_ they wouldn't be able to work well as a team. And what about if they just end up telling each other their identities anyway?"

Tikki's eyes flash. "Mari would never tell anyone her secret. I've told her the consequences, and she agrees and understands."

But even as the words leave her mouth, she feels uncertainty settle in her heart. Marinette tries her best, but she's made mistakes, too. Tikki would never doubt her intentions, but the girl is about as clumsy with her words as she is with her body. What if one day it just slipped out?

She sighs, staring at the floor. She doesn't know what to say. Thankfully, Plagg steps in again.

"All I'm saying," he starts, "is that maybe, just this once, it would be better if we told them. If Hawkmoth were to somehow get ahold of either of them, even if they _didn't_ know each others' identities, they could end up dragging the other into it just by civilian association."

He looks away from her, his gaze darkening. "Or, worse: one of them could get akumatized."

Tikki draws in a sharp breath. She's had one Ladybug akumatized before. One. It was a nightmare.

She doesn't intend on letting it happen again.

"We only have one choice, then," she says, quietly.

"And that is?" Plagg asks, hope sparking in his eyes.

She looks at herself in the mirror, eyes flashing with determination. She's one of the smaller kwamis, but there's a lot of might in such a small package.

"We've got to find Hawkmoth — and soon."

Plagg narrows his gaze at her. "Isn't that what we've been trying to do since day one?"

Tikki shakes her head. "We haven't done enough. We've got to lay a trap. We've got to be one step ahead."

"And how do you suggest we do that?"

Her gaze moves to Marinette's neatly-folded clothes, resting on the sink counter. She _knows_ she shouldn't intervene; she knows how much Marinette is looking forward to the dance and how horrible of a week she's already been having —

— but she also knows that Marinette understands the weight heroism. In the long run, one ruined high-school dance can't outweigh the safety of Paris. And, just as importantly, the safety of Marinette and Adrien themselves.

"I think I've got an idea."


	10. Chapter 10

A shiver runs down Marinette's spine as Gabriel's eyes sweep from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

He puts a hand on his chin. The skin of his face is wrinkle-free, other than the tiny divot that tugs at the corner of his mouth — thoughtful, keen, cold.

"Lift the skirt to your knees."

She obeys, carefully lifting the gown. The fabric is heavy, and she almost loses grip on the edge of it until her pinky manages to snag the end. She berates herself silently in her head. As usual, she's a klutz out-of-costume.

Gabriel peers at her legs. It makes her wishes she were a turtle and could slip into a shell to hide.

But instead of the hard judgment she expects to find, one of his simply eyebrows arches slighlty. "You are an athlete, I presume?"

She nearly snorts. If being a superhero qualifies as a sport, then she's Team Paris' MVP.

But she can't say that, of course, so she just blurts out, "Oh, um, I do gymnastics."

Adrien looks at her curiously. "I didn't know that."

She shrugs. "I, um, don't talk about it a lot." A statement that, given the current metaphor, is not entirely untrue.

Gabriel, meanwhile, marks his tablet with his stylus, apparently deep in thought. She's careful not to let the skirt fall again, but her hands are starting to cramp from holding the heavy fabric up for so many seconds. Adrien graces her with a smile of encouragement, though, which makes the weight a little easier to bear.

Finally, he nods at her. "That's enough."

She lets the skirt drop, wringing her hands together.

He pinches his nose between two fingers. "With an altered neckline, I'll have to pick out a new statement necklace to go with the dress." He pauses. Makes a few more notes on the tablet. "The earrings should still work."

Her heart drops in her stomach. _Oh._

"I can't wear the earrings."

Gabriel's gaze snaps to her. Rather than the angry fire she expects to see, his eyes hold a carefully-concealed interest.

"And why ever not?"

Oh boy. _Oh boy._

She gestures to her ears. "My grandfather, um, he gave these to me. They're really special to me. I never take them off." She pauses. Adds in an attempt to be more convincing: " _Ever."_

Gabriel scoffs. "Well, it's out of the question. Your family heirloom has no place in my design."

Her blood heats up a little at that. " _My_ design," she corrects without thinking.

She notices in the corner of her gaze that Adrien's face pales slightly. Still, she can't take her words back, even if she wanted to — which she doesn't.

Gabriel lowers his tablet for the first time since she arrived at the mansion. He regards her — up and down, from head to toes — once again, only this time it's different.

This time, he's really _looking._

The room is so silent that she can hear the grandfather clock ticking in the entry hall. But she won't break eye contact.

Finally, she takes a deep breath, and says in her calmest tone, "Let me make some earrings that loop around my current earrings. I'll bring them to the photoshoot on Friday, and if you don't like what I come up with —"

Tikki is going to _kill_ her —

"— I'll wear whatever earrings you want."

The corner of his mouth curves into a deadly smirk.

"An interesting proposition. You're sure?"

She nods. "Yes. It's my design. They should be my earrings, too."

Gabriel lifts his tablet again. Makes a few notes.

"Very well," he says, not looking at her. He's still smirking.

She's too afraid to see what Adrien's expression might be, so she doesn't look at him. She just watches, carefully, as Gabriel toys with his tablet.

Something is off. She feels rather ill at ease looking at Gabriel's smirk, at the way he seems so pleased with himself. She supposes it must just be the strange, cold vibes he gives off so easily, but an itching sensation in the back of her brain tells her that she's missing an important piece in a puzzle.

He removes a clicker from his pocket and presses a button, dragging her out of her worried thoughts. She half expects the walls to start moving again. Instead, Nathalie suddenly appears in the doorway to the atrium.

"You called, Mr. Agreste?" she says, standing at attention.

He nods. "Take Ms. Dupain-Cheng back to Adrien's room so she can change."

She nods. "Yes sir."

Marinette takes that as her cue to leave the room — and, given the shiver traveling down her spine, she couldn't be any more eager to escape Mr. Agreste's presence.

Adrien catches her gaze as she leaves. She's surprised to see that his expression isn't worried, like she thought it might be, but —

— shocked? Pensive? She can't quite put her finger on it.

She doesn't have much time to ponder, however, as Nathalie grips her firmly by the shoulder and escorts her out.

* * *

Adrien watches Marinette leave the room with Nathalie, and his heart is _pounding,_ though he doesn't understand why. Of course, witnessing Marinette's bravery in dealing with his father has filled him with a strange excitement and sense of pride, but he's pretty sure the speed of his heartbeat is coming from some other unidentifiable source.

Gabriel speaks, pulling him from his thoughts.

"When you first told me about Ms. Dupain-Cheng," he says quietly, taking Adrien's suit coat from the other mannequin, "you failed to mention your predilection for her."

Whatever Adrien's thoughts were on his pounding heart, they vanish.

"Predilection?" he questions.

Gabriel nods, not looking at him. "You have feelings for her — do you not?"

Adrien's mouth gapes open.

"I, uh — what do you — I don't — what?"

 _Now_ his father looks at him — and his eyes are surprisingly soft.

"Oh, my son," he says, or sighs, rather. "Despite my colder disposition, do not think I am so blind to the quarrels of young love." He looks away. "Your mother, after all, married me for neither money nor fame."

A pang hits Adrien's heart. Sometimes he forgets the way they looked at each other.

"She loved you so much," he says, surprised at himself — and the sudden turn of this conversation — even as the words leave his lips.

"And I her," his father says. But the warmth disappears from his eyes as suddenly as it appears. "Yet you evade my question: do you have feelings for this girl?"

Plagg's joking is one thing. Nino's arguments are thought-provoking. But his father's direct approach is another thing entirely, and he struggles to find an adequate answer.

"Marinette is…a good friend," he explains, standing straighter as his father approaches him with the suit jacket.

"But you have started to regard her as something more?"

Adrien slips on the coat. He makes sure his arms are through the sleeves before he responds, "Maybe. I'm not sure."

His father scoffs. "Well, I'm quite sure. It is rather evident in your behavior — as well as hers." He makes some measurements on the sleeves of the jacket, but continues without looking up, "She is rather brash, isn't she? A pretty face is no substitute for a lack of manners, but I suppose she is —"

Something _flares_ in him.

He _pulls_ away from his father, the blood rising to his cheeks, his ears, filling him with, for once in his life, unsuppressed anger.

"I won't listen to you… _insult_ her," he says, spits, with a bite in his tone that makes him surprised he isn't hiding behind Chat Noir's mask. "Not her, and not any of my friends. I like her, and — and you _worshipped_ these qualities in mother, her brashness and her creativity, and the way that she wasn't afraid to stand up to you, and you can't just turn around and berate me for choosing to like someone who's so much like her when I miss her so _much_ —"

 _"_ _You have her smile."_

He shakes his head. Not now. He'll think about that later.

Tension hangs between them, like watching a man wobble on a tightrope fifty feet above, and having no power to help.

He breathes in. Exhales. There's a lump in his throat. And he hates himself for it, but a horrid feeling flickers within him that he's never allowed himself to think in words, until now: it should have been him. Gabriel. Not his mother.

But his father clears his throat, interrupting Adrien's misery.

"You misunderstand me, my son," he says, gentler than Adrien has heard him in months, perhaps years.

He blinks. "What?"

He raises the tablet. Makes some notes. The façade returns, but now it's less like cement and more like styrofoam, which Adrien is glad of.

"I was going to suggest we invite her to dinner," Gabriel explains. "Tomorrow night. If my son is to court someone, I should like to get to know whomever he chooses."

Adrien barely stops himself from squeaking. The embarrassment that rises in him isn't red-hot; rather, he feels like he's sinking into a warm bathtub — in a room made of windows.

"Uh, really?"

"Really." He gestures for him to remove the jacket. "Does that suit you?"

"Yeah, the sleeves are a lot better —"

"I meant the dinner."

He stares at his father. Is this a trick? Something must be happening that he doesn't understand. But he can't detect any of the usual coldness or even apathy in his father's eyes. Could he really be doing something _good_ for Adrien?

"Uh, yeah. Dinner would be great."

He nods, folding up the jacket. "I will let the cook know."

Adrien can only stand, frozen, watching his father approach the mannequins with an air of disbelief. Then a knife of guilt hits him as he remembers his cruel thought from earlier. It's almost as if every time his father steps over a line, he does something to redeem himself. Perhaps that's why he can't succumb to the notion that there's no good left in his father.

"Well, I'm finished," Gabriel says, turning back toward him. "I suggest put your mother's carefully-taught chivalry into practice, and show Ms. Dupain-Cheng out."

"Thank you, father," he breathes in complete disbelief, breaking his silent spell. "You have no idea —"

"Yes, yes, now go," he chides, nodding toward the door. "Before you miss her."

As Adrien starts toward the entry hall, his father adds, "And do send Nathalie back to me on your way out."

"Yes, sir!"

He's out the door within moments, leaning over the banister to look down into the entry hall for Marinette. He doesn't see her, but the sound of high heels clacking in the hallway makes him turn.

Marinette is heading toward the stairs. She's back in her regular clothes, and Nathalie is close behind her, holding the gown and shoes.

"Nathalie!" he calls, getting her attention.

She looks up at him. "Yes?"

"My father wants to see you again." He smiles. "I can walk Marinette out."

Nathalie looks furtively back and forth between the two of them, like she's worried that if she leaves for ten seconds they'll be all over each other. Given what she saw earlier, of course, he supposes she wouldn't be insane to think so — albeit, the realization occurs to him accompanied by a swirling embarrassment in his stomach.

Eventually, however, she just sighs. "Of course."

Perhaps he's imagining it, but he thinks he sees her shoulders slump as she travels the rest of the staircase, the gown and shoes held tightly against her bosom, like a life jacket.

He watches her pass him and head back into Gabriel's office before he finally turns back to Marinette. She stands at the top of the stairs, seemingly frozen in place and staring at nothing, so he dashes up to meet her.

"Are you okay?" he asks at the top.

She blinks. "Huh? I mean, yeah, I'm date. You great. Me date." She just sighs. " _I'm great._ There we go. I'm great."

He tries not to blush at her suggestion of 'me date'. After all, he's pretty sure she doesn't even hear herself when she stutters like that, and bringing this particular goof-up to her attention isn't how he intended revealing his possible feelings to her.

Instead, returning to the matter of her out-of-it-ness, he asks, "Are you sure? You look pale. You're not feeling sick again?"

"No, it's not that," she says. Her gaze holds his for just a moment, and then she tears it away. It sends a sadness through his ribcage that he can't describe; he just wants to keep looking deep into her lovely blue eyes.

But she seems heavier, more weighed-down by _something_ than she did when they were with his father just five minutes ago. Despite what she says, he figures it must have something to do with her sickness.

"You should get home," he says softly, as much as it disappoints him to say goodbye to her now when all he wants to do is wrap him in his arms. He blushes at the thought.

But if she notices his shyness, she doesn't say anything. She just nods. "I probably should."

"Here." He offers his arm to her. She takes it with a too-small smile, and they head down the stairs together.

"Listen, Adrien," she starts before they're even partway down the stairs. "About earlier…there's something I have to tell you."

His heart skips a beat. "Actually, there's something I want to tell you, too — but you go first."

But she doesn't speak yet. He wishes his heart would stop pounding so feverishly — she can probably hear it in the silence.

When they stop at the bottom of the stairs, she finally tilts her head upward to look at him.

"I, um, don't know what you've heard," she starts, glancing away from him and then back again. "And what you've done for me is really nice, and I appreciate you wanting to help me with my fashion designing stuff." She sweeps some bangs away from her eyes.

He grabs her hand. Squeezes it. "Of course, Marinette. You deserve it."

She smiles sadly, tugging her hand away. "But I just wanted to reiterate that, um, we're going to this dance as friends. I don't expect anything other than that."

His heart falls into his stomach.

"Marinette, I —"

"No, it's okay, you don't have to say anything," she says, shaking her head. "I know that Nino and Alya might've…they might've said some things, but I hope you didn't take them seriously." Her head falls, breaking eye contact with him. "I didn't mean to make such a mess out of things."

He draws in a sharp breath. "But Mari, I —"

He stops because he sees her eyes are watering. He wants to ask her what's wrong, he wants to figure out where this is coming from —

— but she beats him to the punch.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, wiping just under her lower eyelids. "I'm just a little emotional because I'm sick. But I just had to tell you, so that you didn't misunderstand." She sniffles. He wants to ask what's wrong, ask anything at all, but she won't let him get a word in. "So um, what did you wanna tell me?"

He opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. Shuts it again.

No point inviting the girl he's "courting" to dinner if she doesn't want to be courted.

"Just…" he trails off. "I just wanted to ask if you wanted to borrow one of my jackets for your walk home."

For the span of a heartbeat she looks like she might say yes, but then her eyes flick to the floor again.

"That's super sweet, but I couldn't," she says, voice warbling a little on the last word. Then, suddenly remembering, she adds, "Speaking of which, let me give you your scarf back —"

"I know you made the scarf for me."

She blinks. She's only midway through taking it off. Her hands fall slowly back down to her sides.

"But…but how did you —?"

"Alya told me," he lies smoothly. "I just, uh, wanted to tell you how much that means to me."

Her cheeks turn pink. It just sends the knife a little further into his heart.

"It was nothing," she says. "You've always been a good friend to me. The least I could do was make sure you got something nice for your birthday."

And thus, the knife cuts all the way through, bleeding him out.

 _"_ _You're a good friend."_ How many times has he said the same thing to her? About her? And here he is, on the receiving end and unexpectedly brokenhearted.

Still, he's so confused: did she not tell him — tell Chat, at least — just last night about her feelings for him, for Adrien? What's changed since then?

He doesn't understand, and he doesn't dare ask. He doesn't think his heart could handle the answer, and, judging by the tears in her eyes, she probably wouldn't be able to handle telling him.

"I should go," she says, her voice softer than rain. "Here's your scarf—"

"Keep it. For the walk home. It's cold."

She looks like she might cry. He _feels_ like he might cry. He's sure that something beyond his understanding is happening. Someone told her something, or made her think he doesn't like her, or maybe —

— or maybe she lied to him, to Chat? But why would she?

Despite his trance, he manages to open the door for her. The cold night air nearly knocks him off his feet.

"You'll make it home okay?" he asks, watching closely as she walks out.

She nods. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

"You're not walking, right?" He sighs. Scratches the back of his neck with his hand. "My body guard can drive you home, you know."

"No, no, I'm, um," she pauses strangely, "taking the betro."

He raises an eyebrow. "The metro?"

She nods assuredly. "Yeah, the get-grow."

He stops. Laughs. He can't help it. She looks a little off-put, but then she laughs, too — the first time she's laughed since she came downstairs with him.

"In all seriousness, text me when you get home? So I know you're safe." He ventures, riding on pure hope, "I know you're tough, but every Princess needs a knight to look after her, right?"

She grins. This time, it touches her eyes.

"I'm not a Princess. I'm too clumsy."

"Please, that just makes your subjects _fall_ for you more."

Marinette must hate puns, because her face immediately falls.

She shakes her head, like she's shaking away stars that he can't see. He frowns. The tension is back.

"I, um, I have to go —"

"Of course —"

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

He nods.

"See you tomorrow."

He watches her, down the stairs and out the gate, until she disappears into the Paris night.

* * *

Gabriel sits at his desk, poised, cold, waiting for Nathalie to return from the entry hall.

What an _interesting_ day. Who knew his own innocent son would lead him straight to Ladybug? He wasn't expecting this by any means, but he certainly won't be so foolish to deny the gift that has dropped on his doorstep.

There's a light knock on his office door.

"Come in."

Nathalie slips inside, closing the door behind her. Before he can speak, she says, "Sir, there's something you should know."

Whatever Nathalie has to say cannot possibly be as important as his own current revelations, but he's in a good mood, so he decides to entertain her. "Yes?"

She clears her throat. Shuffles awkwardly. "Earlier, I saw Adrien and…that girl. They were very close to one another." She pauses. " _Very_ close."

Gabriel snorts. "Nathalie, surely you do not think me so far gone that I am blind to my son's obvious feelings for this girl?"

She blinks. Her eyes grow to the size of dinner plates. "Uh, no, sir, of course —"

"In any case, that hardly matters." He crosses one leg over the other and smiles icily. "For tonight, we found Ladybug."

A beat passes. Then, Nathalie looks at him like he's suddenly grown a second head.

"Certainly you don't mean this girl?" When he doesn't respond, she says, "I don't understand. You think this girl, Adrien's classmate, is _Ladybug_?"

"I do not think, Nathalie. I _know._ "

"How?"

"The 'how' is irrelevant — all that matters is I've found her, and our time is at hand."

As Gabriel stands from his desk, she asks, "But if you think this girl is Ladybug, why didn't you take her earrings while she was here tonight?"

"Nathalie, you're naive." He approaches the portrait. "If I had simply taken her earrings tonight, Chat Noir would simply go into hiding and never surrender his miraculous, for what he perceives to be the good of the world." He straightens his tie. "I need _both_ miraculouses — which is why we must lay a trap."

Nathalie raises an eyebrow. "A trap?"

"Indeed." He smiles. "Because now, I know little Ladybug's weakness: my son."

* * *

Adrien can't sleep — again.

He keeps unlocking his phone, staring at Marinette's contact information, and locking it again — just like earlier in the day.

Plagg floats over and sits on his ribcage. Yawns.

"Come on kid, let's go to bed. She's probably fine."

Adrien shakes his head. "Nothing makes sense. Nino said she liked me."

"Oh, she definitely likes you. No question there."

He sighs. Rolls over on the bed so that he's lying on his back. Plagg takes it in-stride, walking over his stomach like a circus monkey on a beach ball.

Looking his kwami straight in the eyes (as best he can with him sitting on his stomach like that), he asks, "How do you know?"

"It's obvious, kid."

"Then why would she say she wanted to go to the dance as 'just friends'?"

"You guys are teenagers. Do you really need any other explanation?"

He sighs. Sits up. This time, Plagg does _not_ take the motion in stride, and he almost gets stuck in between Adrien's abdomen and his hip.

"Oh, sorry." He grabs his phone again. Sighs.

"Listen, kid," Plagg says, using the tone that he only breaks out when he's either being super sincere or _really_ trying to get some camembert. "Looking at your phone isn't gonna fix things. The two of you need to have a real conversation."

He flops back onto the bed again. "She doesn't wanna talk to me. I even asked her to text me when she got home, and it's been two hours since then."

"She's sick, right? She probably fell asleep as soon as she got there."

He sits up — again. And, again, Plagg is almost crushed.

"Sorry." He takes care not to squash his kwami as he readjusts himself so he's sitting cross-legged on the bed. "I need to talk to her. But she doesn't want to talk to me."

Plagg shrugs. "You'll just have to wait until tomorrow, kid." He floats ever so slightly off the bed. "Too bad you don't have an identical twin. Can I have some camembert now?"

But Plagg's cheese craving is lost on Adrien's ears. He grins.

Plagg's eyes narrow. "Oh no. _No._ Not again. _Not again._ We went over this already, you _can't_ keep _doing_ this —"

Adrien pokes his kwami in the belly mercilessly. "I wouldn't keep doing it if you didn't give me the idea in the first place." He stands from the bed, and says with some force but not loud enough to wake up his father or Nathalie, "Plagg, _claws out!"_

After the transformation, he stands a little straighter. Moonlight beams in through the window, reflecting off the leather of his suit. He smiles, but it falters ever so slightly a moment later — sometimes it hurts a little that he's so much more comfortable in a costume than he is in his own skin.

A burst of cold air rushes into his room as he opens one of the windows. He hasn't checked the weather recently, but he wonders if it'll end up snowing by the dance on Friday. He hops up onto the sill and out on the ledge of the building, taking care to shut the window behind him. Neither Nathalie nor Gorilla ever check on him while he's asleep, but there's no harm in being careful.

At this point, he doesn't even have to think about how to get to Marinette's. He just goes. She lives pretty close to the school; it doesn't take much time to get there in the mornings, and it's even quicker when he's vaulting over the rooftops —

— that is, of course, until he hears an explosion to the west.

He almost hits a lamppost in his shock, but manages to vault himself with his staff onto the closest roof. From there he retracts his staff and looks in the direction of the disturbance.

Everything is quiet. He wonders for a split second if he imagined it — but then it comes again, louder this time. Closer.

He sucks in a breath. Narrows his eyes. Scans the roads, then the sky. Nothing.

Then, one more time: another explosion. Shortly followed by the sound of a crumbling building.

"No," he breathes, watching as, two blocks away —

— the Dupain-Cheng bakery crumbles to pieces.

* * *

 _(THANK YOU for all your kind reviews thus far! I smile when I read every single one! Also, apologies that this chapter is on the shorter side. Fear not, however - next chapter is my absolute favorite and it's already mostly-written, so I'm hoping to have it up sometime this week. Until then! xoxo)_


	11. Chapter 11

At the first explosion, Marinette jolts awake.

Tikki is up almost faster than she is. "What was _that_?" she asks, as if Marinette knows the answer.

"An akuma?" She tries to sit up and fails. Her muscles, her entire body, _aches._ "Oh boy," she manages to utter as a wave of nausea rolls over her.

Tikki flies over to her. "Marinette, you should transform _—"_

No sooner than the words are out of her mouth, however, is Marinette sicking into the bowl next to her bed. Tikki sighs, and reaches to pull her hair away from her face — as best she can, at least, with her tiny fairy arms.

Thirty seconds later, a second explosion hits. It sounds way closer than the last one. Marinette winces. Wipes the corner of her mouth.

"Sorry," she rasps, her throat sore from the coughing.

"It's really okay," Tikki squeaks. "You'll feel better if you transform. But remember —"

" — to be in a safe place when I de-transform, 'cause I'll feel a lot worse."

Tikki nods. "Exactly."

She sighs, standing up from her bed. Swaying. The whole world is swaying.

"Let's get this over with." A deep breath. "Tikki, _spots on!"_

And from there, something goes terribly wrong.

Tikki said that transforming would make her feel better, but as soon as she's in-costume, there's a _pop_ all around her, and her ears start ringing. The floor quakes beneath her feet. In fact, maybe her eyes are going funny, but it looks like the building is falling apart around her —

— she blanches. It _is._

" _No!"_ she screams, but it's no use. She's already tumbling through the floor ( _through the floor!)_ , and then falling, tumbling, over and over and over — pushed around by the debris of her own home.

She doesn't understand, not quite, but she knows before she hits the ground that wherever this explosion came from, that her home has been destroyed, and she's being buried in the middle of it.

She slams, stomach-first, against a hard _something._ Her lungs gasp for air, but she can't seem to breathe. Everything around her is buried in darkness. Then there's a sharp pain in her side. She can't expand her abdomen enough to take a full breath. Something, a slab of wood or metal, is resting right on top of her ribcage, sandwiching her between two heavy pieces of debris.

Her heart races, like a rabbit caught in a bear trap. Claustrophobia is a nasty demon, and the panic clock is already ticking.

A desperate tear slides from her eye. She takes as big of a breath in as she can. It isn't enough. Can she speak?

"Hello?"

It's just a faint rasp. She knows no one can hear her. Mama and Papa, they must be —

"No," she chides herself. _Don't think about it, just fix it._

Plan, plan, she needs a plan; she can get through anything as long as she has a blueprint, a design. Every wedding cake starts as a recipe, Papa always says.

What would Tikki tell her to do? She looks around as best she can, but her head is stuck under the weight of some debris and it's too dark to see. How far under is she buried? Is there a way out?

She takes another breath in through the nose. The air is cold — it stings her nose — which must mean that, even though she's buried, the situation isn't quite hopeless. If she can smell the night air, there's a way out, and it's got to be close.

She forces another breath in, and out. The stabbing in her side is getting worse. There's blood dripping into her right eye, which reawakens the nausea in her stomach. Is it her blood? She's never bled as Ladybug before. Is it Mama's, or Papa's, are they buried under the rubble with her, too? —

"Okay, _Ladybug_ ," she whispers, cutting herself from these thoughts once again. "What're you doing? What's your plan? You can do this."

Ribcage. She has to get that free so she can move the rest of her body. Can she move her arms?

She wiggles her left arm. Presses so that her hand hits something solid, and then shoves her elbow up so it's at a right angle, like she's about to do a pushup. She tries the same thing with the other arm. Still good. Both arms free.

She pushes as hard as she can. The effort is excruciating; something _pops_ in her back. She screams.

"Okay, okay," she rasps, letting her abdomen fall the inch back to whatever she was resting on before. Her lungs heave, desperate for air, but she can only breathe so deeply with the pressure still on her back. She wants to scream. Should she scream?

She tries to be as quiet as she can. Listens. No cars, no sirens, nothing. Just another explosion.

Claustrophobia setting in. Her mind laughs tauntingly — _claws_ -trophobia, Chat would say.

 _Chat,_ she thinks, and it's like a beacon of hope in her mind. If Chat finds her, he could get her out with cataclysm. But is it too risky? Will he see her buried under the rubble of the bakery and realize her secret identity?

Another tear falls, rolling down her cheek. She shudders. She's not sure she has much of a choice, unless she wants to wait for the next explosion — and the resulting pile of bricks — to fall on her.

She could call him on her yo-yo. She moves her arm, but —

— but it's hopeless, she realizes, as her hip is totally out of reach from her arm. There's a slab of _something_ keeping her arm from getting there.

Only one choice, then. "Tell me what to do, Tikki," she whispers, prays. "Please."

Then, with all the strength she has left, she cries, "Lucky charm!"

There's a split second where she's worried that she won't be able to catch whatever is sent to her — but then, strangely enough, the object simply appears in her left hand.

She blinks a couple times. She can't really make out what the object is in the darkness, so she just tries to figure it out by feeling it. There's a tube, and a handle, and a trigger —

— a flare gun. Definitely a flare gun.

She's ready to shoot it out of pure joy, but then she stops. Breathes in.

Which way is up? Will it break through the cement over her head? Or will she just —

— blow herself up?

 _Is_ it a flare gun? What else could it be? Tikki wouldn't send her something she can't use.

Her earring beeps.

" _Shit,_ " she hisses. She doesn't swear much, but the visceral desperation in her chest makes her feel like this might be a worthy occasion.

Claustrophobia timer, still ticking. Terrifyingly ticking.

She takes another breath in. And out.

"Okay," she breathes. "Okay. Gotta get out. Gotta get out."

She glances around, desperate to see something she hasn't seen yet, but the pile she's under is so _dark._ She feels for her lucky charm again, with both hands this time: a barrel, a trigger, a tube, and —

— and something else at the end. A crane? A hook?

A grappling hook! Not a flare gun, a grappling hook. Which must mean there's a way out somewhere above her.

"Which way is up?" she asks herself aloud.

She breathes out. Her lungs _ache._ The blood coming from what she thinks is a head wound has all but rendered her right eye useless.

 _Listen._

The word pops into her head. It isn't her word, but someone else's.

 _Don't look. Listen._

She sighs. She can feel Tikki's presence thrumming in her veins. Another tear, budding in the corner of her right eye, threatens to throw her into hysteria. She doesn't let it.

Instead, she takes Tikki's advice, and tries to make her own frantic breaths as quiet as she can so that she can listen all the better.

At first, she hears nothing. In fact, the complete silence just makes her heart pound faster. She's dying for oxygen, dying for some space. But then —

— but then, she hears it:

 _"_ _Marinette! Marinette, where are you?!"_

The relief is so instant, she almost allows herself to cry. Almost.

"Chat Noir!" she yells as loud as she can — but it comes out like a croak. She tries again. "Chat!" It's louder this time. "Chat, _help!"_

Her earrings beep again. Two minutes left. Two minutes until her transformation wears off, and if she's left defenseless against this slab of cement on top of her —

— she shudders. The timer is really ticking now. Screams a little louder. " _Chat, help me!"_

Silence. Then she hears it, faintly, as if she's in the bakery and she can hear her mother walking in the apartment above: footsteps, slow and uncertain, guessing, wondering.

One more time. As loud as she can, this time, with every last ounce of strength that she has: _"Chat, I need you!"_

A heartbeat passes. Then another.

Then, faintly: "M'lady?"

 _Now_ she cries. The tears flow from her eyes like rain from a summer thunderstorm sky.

"Chat!" she cries, her voice breaking. "I'm buried, I need help, I can't — I can't _move_ —"

"I'm here! I'm coming, I'm coming!"

And she hears him, and her heart stutters in her chest, and _oh,_ for all the years she's loved Adrien Agreste, she has never loved him more than she loves Chat Noir in this very moment.

"I've got a grappling hook!" she yells, and a laugh bursts from her chest despite herself. In any other situation, it would be such an odd thing to say. "Keep talking so I can figure out where to aim it!"

"Keep talking? About what?"

She sighs, but she's still smiling despite herself — the near-death kind of smile where it's only funny because it might be the last thing she ever laughs at. "I really don't think it matters, kitty!"

"Uh, okay. Well, there's an akuma running around, and I was about to find it but then I saw this bakery collapsing and my friend Marinette lives here —"

She listens. _Listen, don't look._ He's definitely above her, and…slightly to the left?

" — and I'm really worried about her, and — do you still want me to keep talking?"

" _Yes!"_

"Okay, um, worried about the akuma, too, but mostly worried about Marinette —"

She thinks she has his location figured out. Still, she feels uneasy. If she aims and misses, is that it? No retries?

 _Now look!_

Again, not her words, but she knows it's Tikki, so she obeys. Glances around. Looks toward where she _thinks_ she can hear Chat speaking from —

— and that's when she sees it. The corner of her thumb is illuminated in moonlight. She moves her hand slightly to the left, and her whole hand lights up: a beam of moonlight engulfs it, ruby red, shining, lighting up from the direction of Chat's voice.

An opening. The ticking timer in her heart stops. A sigh travels through her entire body, a breath of relief.

"Oh, yes," she breathes. " _Yes,_ that's it! I found it!"

"Found what, m'lady?"

"Just have your staff ready!"

Her earring beeps. Oh boy. It's gonna be close.

She grips the grappling hook with both hands. Moves so that it's in the circle of moonlight, pointing toward where she hears Chat's voice. Says a little prayer, and then —

— pulls the trigger.

There's a bit of recoil that threatens to crack her elbow, but then the moment of pain passes. She grips the handle so tightly her knuckles burn, like a starving boa squeezing the body of a plump mouse.

For a split second, there's the whir of the hook, traveling upward through the debris, through the battered skeleton of her home. She's terrified that she's missed, that she's misunderstood Tikki's instructions — but then, truly miraculously, she feels the _clunk_ of the hook wrapping itself around something.

She tugs once, twice. It's secure.

"Pull, Chat Noir!"

"Won't it hurt?"

Her earring beeps relentlessly. She screams, borderline hysterically, " _Just do it!_ "

And it does, indeed, hurt — like she imagines a medieval torture machine might: the angle that the grappling hook pulls her is the correct leverage to lift her out of her concrete trap, but the sharp tug in her back and her abdomen and her arms and legs almost causes her to scream in agony. But she braces against the pain and bites her bottom lip until it bleeds, knowing that if she makes her pain known, Chat Noir might stop pulling her up out of innocent concern.

But the ride up, thankfully, isn't as long as she expects — she was lucky to be pretty close to the top of the pile, considering how far buried she might've been if her bedroom were on the first floor.

She thinks of her parents and sucks in a breath. She has to take care of the akuma first. Then purify the butterfly. Then everything should return to normal. Mama and Papa will be fine.

Before long, the moonlight hits her face. Chat Noir's bright green eyes, staring down at her as he pulls his staff like a fishing rod to save her, is a welcome benediction on her soul. A feeling of safety washes over her, like passing under a waterfall and coming out the other side soaked to the skin.

" _Ch-Chat,"_ she manages, her teeth chattering from fear.

He drops to his knees to pull her up the rest of the way, his staff extended over the hole to keep her from falling.

"Ladybug!"

He pulls her straight into his arms. For one perfect moment, she is content to just exist in his arms, feeling safe, feeling like she's come home.

But then he pulls away, brows furrowing, his hand moving to tenderly wipe her bangs from her forehead. "You're bleeding —"

She shakes her head. "Doesn't matter. I'm fine. I have to de-transform —" Truly, she wishes she could take a bubble bath, or maybe a nap would suffice. "Can you give me a minute?"

He swallows. "Of course. But will you be alright?"

She shrugs. "I don't have a choice, kitty. I have to be."

She looks around. She fell all the way through to the bottom floor; Chat has pulled her up to what's left of the second floor. Her room is destroyed: all that's left above them is a skeleton of her balcony. She fights, desperately, to hold back her tears upon seeing her home in ashes.

Thankfully the bakery seems to be the only building that was badly hit by whatever explosion happened — but all up and down the street, civilians are starting to flick on the lights of their homes, stare out the windows, come outside and look at the damage of the latest akuma.

Her earring is going off like a fire alarm now. She knows she has a matter of seconds until her transformation wears off. But where can she hide?

Chat Noir looks at her understandingly. Then, he points down, toward the remains of the first floor — the part she wasn't buried under, that has still somehow remained somewhat in tact, though it's covered in debris and dust.

"Look," he says, "some of it is still in tact. You can go down there and de-transform. I'll stand guard at the opening and make sure no one comes in."

Her eyes widen. "You're sure?"

"I won't peek. Promise." He smiles at her in a way that leaves her a little breathless. Then, glancing at her earrings, he says, "Now _go._ I'll be right behind you but I won't come in. Don't worry."

She doesn't need to be told twice. She swings down back toward her half-standing home, swiping some miraculously unharmed macarons off of a display shelf for Tikki on the way. The counter where the cash register sits is somehow still standing, as is the corner wall it's backed up against, so she ducks behind it just as her transformation wears off.

The effect is immediate. The gash in her head _blazes;_ she feels with acute sensitivity the weariness in her bones, the nausea in her stomach.

Tikki manages to find the macarons in her outstretched hand without much difficulty as Marinette leans back against the counter, her head sinking into her shoulders with exhaustion.

"Tikki…" she breathes. She's losing grip — fast.

"Stay with me, Mari," her kwami says around a mouth full of cookie. "I'm eating as — _gulp_ — fast as I can."

"Tikki, am I gonna die?"

Tikki, a little to Marinette's chagrin, giggles. "You're not gonna die. You've got a dance on Friday to go to, remember?" The sounds of cookie-munching. "With Adrien?"

 _Adrien._ What she'd give to see his face right now. She forgot to text him and tell him that she made it home alright. She'd fallen asleep as soon as she got in her room and sat on her bed.

"I love him, Tikki," she says, completely delirious but completely sincere.

"I know you do, silly," Tikki says. A few moments later, she mumbles around the remains of her cookie, "Okay, I'm ready to go."

"After this, we are taking…a _long_ nap."

"Sounds good."

 _"_ _Spots…on!"_

When the transformation is complete, she breathes a deep sigh of relief. With Tikki reenergized, her magic is working at full-power again, and Marinette doesn't feel her battle wounds — nor her sickness — quite so deeply.

She lifts herself to her feet, gripping the counter for support. Then, slowly but surely, with a soreness in her bones but a renewed spirit, she stumbles back toward the big hole in the wall where Chat Noir is waiting for her.

As promised, his back is turned away. His ears are perked, not toward her but toward the most recent explosions from the akuma.

She clears her throat. He turns.

"You're okay," he breathes, reaching out to embrace her.

Instead of pushing him away, she lets herself be tugged into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I'm fine," she says, though tears prick at her eyes. "Thank you for saving me."

"Of course, Bugaboo — but I hope I never have to again."

He suddenly stiffens — she pulls away, wondering if she said something wrong. There's a deep-set fear in his eyes. She thinks she knows the words he's about to say before he even opens his mouth to speak.

"Don't worry, _mon minou,"_ she says, softly rubbing her hands up and down his arms in an attempt to comfort him. "We'll beat the akuma, like we always do, and, um, your friend will be perfectly fine."

"You didn't see her in there?" he asks, his voice little more than a whisper.

She knows she could lie and spare him, but the risk that he'll try to go find her, find Marinette, is too great. So she purses her lips, and says, "No, but — but she'll fine. I'm sure of it."

He looks at her strangely for a moment. Blinks. His face is pale. She feels one of his arms tense up as his hand balls into a fist.

She _knows_ she shouldn't ask, but —

"This Marinette, is she, um, your friend?"

He winces. "Something like that."

She doesn't even have time to wonder what that means before there's another explosion, not too far away.

"We'd better take care of that," he all but growls, hand flashing to grab his staff off his belt.

She blinks. Shuffles her feet. Grabs her yo-yo, though not quite as enthusiastically as he does.

"Right."

* * *

By the time Marinette safely returns to her house and de-transforms, it's three in the morning. She isn't quite as exhausted as she expects to be when Tikki leaves her earrings and the magic wears off.

"I wonder if I'm just numb to the pain at this point," she wonders aloud to Tikki, flopping on her bed.

"Maybe," Tikki says, but her little forehead creases with worry. "Or you're in shock."

"Shock?"

"Well, that _was_ a pretty brutal incident."

She opens her mouth to ask what Tikki means by that, then closes it again. Her wounds from being buried underneath the bakery rubble are gone, thanks to the magic of her lucky charm. But the psychological wounds — the trauma of being buried under the cement, in the dark, with only minutes until imminent death —

— those wounds are still very present.

"Maybe I _am_ in shock," she realizes, looking up at Tikki with wide eyes. "I _do_ feel kind of jittery. How do you fix shock? Isn't there, like, a shock plank? Blank? _Blanket._ A shock blanket?"

Tikki shrugs, just as clueless. "Maybe some warm milk? Or a hug?"

Something — or someone — knocks against her skylight.

Tikki squeaks. Flies to her hiding spot in the plant across the room. Unless Mama or Papa somehow got onto her balcony while she was away — and she knows they didn't, because she made sure they were safe and sleeping in bed when she got home from the attack — there's only one person it could be.

She glances up. Chat Noir is nowhere to be seen, but she's certain she heard a knock. She looks down at herself. She's rumpled around the edges, but at least she managed to slip into a presentable pair of pajamas when she got back from Adrien's earlier that night. Her hair is also a mess — no longer in its usual pigtails but undone and a little ratty at the ends. Still, it'll have to do.

Her heart flutters in her chest just a bit. Chat, of course, can't know about her newfound feelings for him, but she still feels the jitters in her belly. Or maybe, as Tikki suggested, that's the shock. She would be none the wiser. It's been a long night.

She stands on her bed and pushes open the skylight. Peeks out onto the terrace.

And there he is, leaning against the balcony, looking out at the Paris skyline. He doesn't say anything, doesn't move, but still, she can feel the melancholy radiating off him even from where she stands on her bed, staring.

She slips out and up onto the balcony, careful to shut the skylight behind her so as not to wake up her parents.

Silently, she joins Chat at the railing, standing only a few inches away from him. It's reminiscent of the night André the ice cream man was akumatized, only this time, she might return his feelings. The thought makes her blush.

It's a long time before he says anything, but, finally, he does.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice soft. He doesn't look at her. For once, she can't even read him.

She blinks. Tries to make eye contact, but fails. So she just looks at the sky like he does, rubbing her arms.

"I'm, uh, I'm okay."

"Did the building fall on you?"

She draws in a sharp breath. He isn't beating around the bush.

"Yes," she says, figuring there's no point in lying about that. "My mom, um, thinks I'm in shock. She and my dad slept through it, or, uh…they were gone on impact, maybe. We're fine, now, of course."

 _Now_ he looks at her, turns toward her fully, his eyes filled with sadness. "But are you? Are _you_ fine? You're not, like, traumatized, or anything?"

She flinches. Tries to take it back, but he's already seen her reaction.

But she supposes that's the nice thing about him not knowing her identity: when she's Ladybug, she feels she has to hide the pain. But here, as Marinette, as her imperfect self, her _true_ self —

— maybe, for once, she doesn't have to feel bad for showing him her fears.

He turns away from her again. Buries his face in one hand.

"I'm so sorry," he murmurs. "I was _so close,_ I should've saved you." He shudders. "Mari, I was so _worried."_

One of his arms stretches out to touch her — _almost_ brushing her elbow, but then she watches him pull it back.

She can see the effort it takes him not to touch her. Her heart flutters. Could he —? But no, she can't allow herself to hope that he would have feelings for her. Ladybug is one thing — but she, Marinette, is no superhero.

Still, his words ring like a bell in her heart. "Chat, it's really okay. You and Ladybug saved us, like you always do. I'll get over it in a few days."

He shakes his head. Says, morosely, "What good are superpowers if you can't use them to save the people you —" he stops. Breathes. "People who are important. You know?"

There it is again — that pesky hope, fluttering in her ribcage.

She shouldn't. She _really_ shouldn't. She does, anyway, probably because she's in shock: she reaches out to touch his forearm.

Her grip is little more than a butterfly landing on a flower, but he flinches the instant her fingers brush the leather of his suit.

"I'm okay, Chat," she says in a quiet voice. "Besides, you're here now — you know?"

His gaze flicks to where her fingers rest on his forearm, then travels all the way up to rest on her face, to burn into her eyes. He takes a step closer to her. She's never noticed, but even if she stood on her tiptoes, he's so much taller than her that she'd have to crane her neck upwards to —

She blinks. Oh boy.

He licks his lips. Nervous. She can feel it, too: the thrumming underneath her veins, like the beat of a song, and she's yearning to sing it.

His voice is dark when he speaks. Low, blacker than the night she was buried under a few hours ago, but instead of paralyzing her with fear, this darkness makes her feel safe.

"I know you think…that I don't know you," he starts, and she drinks every word as he speaks it, "but I…I feel like I do."

She nods. The thrumming is stronger. Her knees are shaking. She doesn't bother to stop the hope rising in her chest, now. Three times the charm.

"I understand."

Tikki is going to _kill_ her.

He leans down ever so slightly. She stands on her tiptoes, and is pleased to find that her earlier hypothesis was incorrect: she doesn't have to crane her neck to kiss him because he comes to meet her in the middle — as he always does.

The kiss is soft: two raindrops meeting on a window pane, two autumn leaves hitting the ground at the same time. His lips are warm, soft, so tender against her own that she thinks if she scrunched her eyes shut any tighter she could float up into the clouds.

One of his hands moves to push slightly against the small of her back. She allows herself to be brought closer to him, until only a single leaf of paper could fit in the space between them. His nose bumps against hers; she smiles against his lips. He keeps kissing her, and she lets him; she wants him to.

She links her arms around the back of his neck. She wants to be closer — the desire is both scary and liberating, as he nudges her forward and closes the sliver of space between them, enveloping her in his embrace.

She could get lost here, she thinks. She _fits_ here, in his arms, her lips between his lips, her arm around the back of his neck and his hands pressed gently against her spine, supporting her, an anchor in her harbor and a smile in her heart.

Except —

— _except._

And he must feel it at the same time she does, the shift in their rhythm, because they both stop at precisely the same moment: two kids, nothing super or heroic about either of them, just suspended in space, wondering who's going to move next.

Surprisingly enough, it's him.

He backs away, looking frightened — of her or himself, he can't tell.

"I shouldn't have done that," he murmurs. "I'm…I'm so sorry, Marinette."

She shakes her head. "It wasn't just you."

Neither of them speak the words, but both of them hear it: _But I don't regret it._

And perhaps, she thinks, that is the most frightening part: that even though she knows she shouldn't, even though she knows that she and Chat Noir are ill-destined to be together — not while Hawk Moth still walks the streets of Paris — and even though her feelings for Adrien still run rampant in her heart —

— she can't regret a single millisecond of this moment.

But it does, however, stir a curiosity in her that she can't avoid pursuing.

"You told Adrien about my feelings for him," she states, quietly. "Why would you do that?"

His face turns ashen — he looks away from her. Closes his eyes.

Slowly, each word like molasses from an eye-dropper, he explains, "He knew about it before you told me." His voice holds a weight she couldn't hope to understand. "He just needed a little push in the right direction."

She supposes that, if Adrien already knew, she can't really be too mad about Chat's betrayal. But still —

"The two of you are close, then?" she asks. Tikki will berate her later, but she has to ask. Her heart needs to know why.

"Kind of, but — not exactly."

She raises an eyebrow. "Not exactly?"

His gaze meets hers again — gentler, this time. "We're close, but…Adrien and I are very different people."

She shakes her head. "What does that mean? I don't understand."

Her heart is pounding. She wishes that having feelings for boys wouldn't make her insides feel like mush and a construction site all at once.

"What I'm trying to say," he says, taking a step toward her. The air on the balcony feels like it's getting thinner. "Is that Adrien can't tell you his feelings for you because he's scared."

He pauses. Moves a hand to stroke hold her chin, her cheek, to stroke the tender skin just under her eye. "But I'm not scared, and I — I fall more in love with you every moment I spend with you."

She smiles. She can't help it; her heart grows wings with his confession. But at the same time, she can feel her eyes filling up with tears.

"But you know we can't be together," she whispers, unable to speak any louder lest her voice break. "You're a superhero."

"And you're not?"

She blinks. Her heart _stops._ But how did he find out? She's been so _careful_ —

He speaks again, pulling her out of her worries: "You're caring, brave, creative, _strong,"_ he strokes her cheek again, wiping one of her escaped tears away, "and…and _so_ beautiful. You are a superhero, even if you don't have a costume."

Well, when he puts it like that, he almost convinces her. _Almost._

"But what about Ladybug?" she asks, her tone almost teasing, but she doesn't have the heart to fully cross the line. "I thought you were in love with her."

His face breaks.

"Ladybug will never return my feelings," he says quietly.

"You're wrong."

He snaps his gaze up to her, his eyes questioning.

"She loves you," she continues. "Everybody knows it. Sometimes it's just hard to admit these things to yourself, even when everyone else sees it — you know?"

He scoffs. His eyes move away from hers, looking away at some distant memory. "You can say that again."

Another long silence. She can feel herself fading — whatever shocked state she was in from being buried alive, Chat has calmed her to the point of feeling her illness symptoms again. Whether or not that's a good thing, of course, she would willingly debate with anyone who asked.

Her heart is finally starting to slow down. Returning to reality.

"Chat, I —"

He pulls her into his arms again — not in a kiss, but a simple embrace. His hand buries in her loose hair. She allows herself to delight in the feeling, permanently etching it in her memory to bring up later on a rainy day.

"We can't be together."

"No, we can't. Not until Hawkmoth is gone, anyway."

They see eye-to-eye on that, at least. Maybe Tikki will withhold from murdering her and settle for a light maiming.

"What a mess we're in," she says, laughing despite herself.

"Indeed — it is rather _binding,_ isn't it?" He squeezes her closer to him on the pun, and she can't help a giggle.

"What do we do now?"

They separate. She wipes away her tears, thinking.

"I hate to do this," she starts, quietly, "but you can't come back here."

He sighs. Looks at the ground. "I was afraid you might say that."

"My heart can't handle it."

This surprises him, though. "Oh. I thought —"

"Of course I _want_ you here, kitty, but I can't —"

"— it hurts too much."

"Exactly."

A little bit of titter between the two of them. She takes another breath. He beats her to the punch.

"At least you have Adrien?" he suggests, a coy smile gracing his features.

She smiles sadly. "Maybe — but he's not you, Chat."

Relief paints his features — not just relief, either, but joy.

"You don't know how happy it makes me to hear you say that."

She smiles. "Well, I'm glad."

He reaches out. Grabs her hand. She allows him to take it, and he places a saccharine kiss on her knuckles. Her cheeks blush bright pink; she can feel the blood rising in her face.

"You know, Princess," he says, a twinkle in his eyes, "I get this weird feeling that someday, everything is gonna make sense."

She grins, remembering Tikki's words from their conversation that morning.

"I get that feeling, too."

Quicker than she can stop him, he leans in and pecks her on the lips one last time. It leaves her breathless, speechless. Not breaking eye contact, he says, "Your hair is really pretty like this. You should wear it down more often."

And then, just like that, he's gone — vaulting over the rooftops.

Her lips burn from where he kissed her.

When she manages to make it back down to her bedroom, Tikki is, surprisingly enough, waiting for her.

"Marinette?" The question is obvious in her tone.

And, for the first time since meeting her, Marinette decides that maybe Tikki doesn't need to know _everything._

"Don't worry," she says, a lump in her throat. "Nothing happened. I just told him not to come back."

And Tikki snuggles up against her when she starts to cry.


	12. Chapter 12

The next day begins like any other normal day: Nino and Alya are standing in the school foyer, the former leaning relaxedly against a wall, the latter fuming.

"I don't get what the big deal is," Nino says, trying desperately to calm his girlfriend down. "If Marinette is sick, she shouldn't come to school."

"Yeah, but today of all days, she needs to be here," Alya protests. "If she isn't here, our plan won't work."

"What plan?"

Alya and Nino both start.

Adrien stands before them, looking even more put-together than usual today in a dapper beige peacoat and an argyle sweater. If Marinette were here, Alya thinks, her best friend's blush could rival a field of roses.

"N-Nothing, no plan!" Nino covers, awkwardly waving his hands in front of his face.

Before Adrien can respond, Alya smoothly cuts in, "You look even more model-ish than usual this morning, Adrien. Did you have a photoshoot before school or something?"

He smiles, any questions of their aforementioned 'plan' falling away from the forefront of his mind. "No, thank goodness — my father isn't _that_ cruel. I just, uh —"

He turns his head slightly, suddenly bashful.

"Have you guys seen Mari?" he asks, recovering. There's a twinkle in his eye, one that Alya certainly does not fail to notice. "I've gotta talk to her about something."

Alya's eyes widen. She glances furtively at Nino.

"No, dude, she —"

Alya subtly elbows Nino in the ribs. "—She said she'd be at school today. What's up?"

Adrien shrugs. "Just, uh…stuff about the photo shoot on Friday."

She narrows her eyes. "You mean the photo shoot that was supposed to be a secret?"

Adrien deadpans. His eyes grow to the size of tennis balls.

" _Crud,_ Alya, you can't tell _anyone_ —"

"Relax, Adrien. Your secret's safe with me."

"Did Mari tell you?"

She crosses her arms, a little smug. "Of course she did, we're best friends. Mari tells me everything."

Adrien narrows his eyes at her. "Everything?"

She smirks. " _Everything."_

There's a moment of tense eye contact between them — and then Adrien visibly gulps.

"W-Well, anyway, I should get to class," he says, starting to push past them. As if on a second thought, he turns around. "But tell Mari I'm looking for her if you see her?"

Nino gives him a thumbs up. "Of course, dude. See you in a bit."

As soon as he's out of earshot, Alya tugs Nino to her side.

"What was _that?"_

He shrugs. "Your bet's as good as mine, babe."

"Did you hear how many times he called her 'Mari?'"

"Yup. He's got it bad for her."

"Definitely."

Both of them stare into the crowd of high schoolers for a moment, following Adrien's golden head of hair as it bobs through the wave of students.

"So…is our plan off, then?" Nino asks.

"What? No. Absolutely not."

"But Adrien likes Marinette, and she likes him…so what's the point?"

"The _point,_ " Alya says, poking him in the chest for emphasis, "is that both of them are way too chicken to admit they like each other. So they need us to intervene."

"I dunno, Al," he says, still looking out after Adrien. "Maybe that's what he wants to talk to her so bad about?"

Alya shakes her head. "I'll believe it when I see it. Until then, the plan is still on."

"But what if Marinette doesn't show up?"

As if to rub the inevitable in her face, the bell rings, signaling to students that it's time to get to class.

She sighs. Pinches her nose in between her fingers.

"Then we'll just have to improvise. You stick to the plan, I'll figure something out if Marinette's a no-show."

He nods. Points finger guns at her. "Your wish is my command, babe."

She mockingly rolls her eyes, but a blush creeps its way up the back of her neck nonetheless.

"Alright, operation Much-Ado-About-Winter-Formal is _go."_

* * *

When Sabine Cheng's eyes finally open that Thursday morning, she feels like she's been hit by a bus.

"Rrnnggh…"

She rolls over, eyes fluttering open as she checks the clock on the nightstand:

9:45. _9:45?!_

"Tom! We've got to —"

She reaches across the bed, but her husband isn't there. In fact, the sheets are cold — he must have already been up for a few hours. But why wouldn't he wake her?

Just as the question crosses her mind, the door to their bedroom opens. In bustles her towering husband, carrying a tray with breakfast. His apron is already messed with flour and chocolate stains, and there are a few crumbs in his beard. She smiles.

"Good morning, _ma cherie,"_ he says, depositing the tray gently on her lap.

She can't help a giggle. "But Tom, what is this?"

He smiles. Rubs a hand behind his neck. "We both slept through the alarm this morning. I got up half an hour ago, but you were sleeping so peacefully, I didn't want to disturb you."

"You shouldn't have," she admonishes, though there is a flutter in her heart at his words. "What about the bakery?"

He shrugs, lowering himself to sit at the foot of the bed. "We don't have any pending orders this morning. Besides…"

He trails off. Sabine's eyes narrow, and she pokes him with her foot.

"What is it?"

"Well, as I was getting ready this morning, I heard on the news…there was an akuma attack last night," he explains. His voice is suddenly terse. She can see a little vein popping in his neck. "Apparently the bakery was, uh, totally destroyed."

Sabine's eyes widen. She starts, almost causing the glass of orange juice on her tray to tip over. "Destroyed? What? How?"

He shrugs. "It exploded, I guess. Like, uh, like a bomb."

Her heart falls into her stomach. "Goodness gracious."

A long silence falls between them. Tom is looking at his messy apron. She's staring at him, then the breakfast on her tray. If the bakery exploded in the attack, had they…?

"I guess I just," Tom starts again, pulling her from her dark thoughts, "I heard the news, and I wanted to fix up a little breakfast for you. Just to remind you how thankful I am."

She reaches her hand out to grasp Tom's arm. He looks up at her, his eyes wary. But she smiles as warmly as she can manage, even with the residual fear pounding in her heart.

"We're fine, and that's what matters. Ladybug fixed everything, like she always does."

He nods. Smiles. "We owe a lot to that girl. I'd bake her a cake if I knew where she lived."

Sabine raises her glass to take a sip of orange juice, and then stops. "You know — isn't it strange that Marinette didn't think to wake us up when she got ready for school this morning?"

He narrows his eyes. "Oh — I didn't even think of that. Maybe she was in a rush because she slept in, too?"

She starts to gently push the tray from her lap. "Or maybe she hasn't gotten up yet!" she suggests good-naturedly. After laying a gentle kiss on Tom's cheek, she stands from the bed and says, "I'll go check on her. Then I'll come back, and we can eat this enormous breakfast together."

He smiles. His cheeks are rosy. "Sounds good, _mon ange."_

She grabs a bathrobe from the rack next to the door on the way out. The trek up the stairs to Marinette's room isn't particularly arduous, but she finds herself huffing by the time she reaches the trap door to her daughter's room. Perhaps it's because she doesn't usually have to attempt it minutes after waking up.

The trap door squeaks when she pushes it open. She looks around the room, then up toward the loft-bed.

"Marinette?" she calls softly. "Are you up there?"

No response. She puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head, but a smile graces her features. Marinette definitely inherited her heavy sleeping habits from her father.

Sabine climbs the little ladder and peeks over the edge.

"Sweetie? It's time to get up. You're late for school!"

Still no response. She climbs the rest of the way up and approaches the edge of the bed. Her hair has shadowed her eyes from view. Sabine tenderly brushes the hair away —

— and is shocked to feel the sweat on her daughter's forehead.

She crouches down. All but slaps her hand against Marinette's forehead. It's burning hot.

"Marinette? Can you hear me?"

Still no response. Not even a stir. Her daughter is a pale, lifeless shell of her usual-bubbly self.

A chill comes over her. Looking at her, lying there, it's like —

"Tom!" she calls, her voice cracking.

A moment passes, then, "Sabine?"

Louder, screaming, she cries, "Tom! It's Marinette — come quickly!"

* * *

 _(This chapter is tiny b/c I just wanted to reassure you guys I haven't disappeared. Enjoy the cliffhanger!)_


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